“Hang On To Yourself”
Well, she’s a tongue twisting storm,
Come to the show tonight,
Praying to the light machine.
She wants my honey not my money;
She’s a funky thigh collector,
Laying on electric dreams.
C D C D
So, come on, come on… We’ve really got a good thing going.
C D C
Well, come on. Well, come on — if you think we’re gonna make it,
A D – C – D – C
You better hang on to yourself…
We can’t dance; we don’t talk much. We just ball and play.
But then we move like tigers on Vaseline.
Well, the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar.
You’re the blessed; we’re the spiders from Mars.
SOLO (over A – D – A – D)
Come on, come on…
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