Please Don't Bury Me
John Prine
| D | G |
| Woke up this morning, p | ut on my slippers, |
| D | A |
| walked in the kitchen and | died; |
| D | G |
| and | oh what a feeling when my | soul went through the ceiling. |
| A | D |
| and | on up into heaven I did r | ise. |
| G |
| When I | got there they did say, |
| D |
| "Mike it | happened this-a-way, |
| A | A7 |
| you slipped upon the floor and hit your | head." | |
| D | G | D |
| And | all the angels say just | before you passed a | way |
| A | D |
| These are the very | last words that you | said: |
| Chorus |
| G | D |
| Please don't bury me down i | n the cold cold ground, |
| A |
| no, I'druther have 'em cut me up and pass me all a | round. |
| D |
| Throw my brain in a hurricane, |
| G | D |
| the | blind can have my | eyes, |
| G | D |
| and the | deaf can take | both of my ears |
| A7 | D |
| if | they don't mind the | size. |
| D | G | D |
| Give my stomach to Milwaukee if they | run out of b | eer, |
| E7 | A7 |
| put my socks in a cedar box just | get 'em out'a | here. |
| D |
| Ve | nus de Milo can have my arms... |
| G | D |
| Look | out! I've got your | nose. |
| G | D |
| Sell my heart to the | junk man, |
| A7 | D |
| and gi | ve my love to R | ose |
| D |
| Give my feet to the foot-loose, |
| G | D |
| careless, fancy- | free; |
give my knees to the needy...
| E7 | A7 |
| don't | pull that stuff on | me. |
| D | G | D |
| Hand me down my walkin' cane, it's a | sin to tell a | lie; |
| G | D | A7 | D |
| Send my mouth w | ay down south and | kiss my ass good | -bye. |