Artist:     Roy Harper
Song:       Hors D'oeuvres
Album:      Stormcock
Tabbed by:  Wiktor R. Kolowiecki
E-mail:     victoriumist@gmail.com
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Intro: C C/B Am G G/F# D / D4


Verse:
C         C/B   Am G G/F# Em7  D / D4
The judge sits on his great assize

Twelve men wise with swollen thighs

Who never ever told no lies

Whose minds were ever such a size

Whose lives were ever such a prize

Whose brains bred answers just like flies

Whose answers stalked their thoughts like spies

Whose lead ball through the courtroom flies

To rip a hole clean between two eyes

That never ever wore disguise

And never ever saw blue skies

Who quickly lived now slowly dies

Who closed unopened otherwise

Chorus:
G                   D         Em
Well you can lead a horse to water
But you're never gonna make him drink
And you can lead a man to slaughter
But you're never gonna make him think

Verse 2:

The critic rubs his tired arse
Scrapes his poor brains, strains and farts
And wields a pen that stops and starts
And thinks in terms of booze and tarts
And sits there playing with his parts
He says I'm much too crude and far too course
And he says this singer's just a farce
He's got no healing formulas
He's got no cure-all for our scars
He's got no bra-strap for our bras
And our sagging tits no longer hold a full house of hearts
And you know what? I don't think this little song's gonna make the charts

Chorus

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not-obvious chords:

C/B - 022010
G/F# - 220033

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Lublin, Poland
22.07.09