Cold Dead Hand

	  		
Intro: F#m 

           A 
Some folks ride like the wind, 
         D                   A 
With the whispering pines to guide them, 
        D               A 
And the burning light inside them 
           E 
Keeps them warm in the snow.  


       A 
Others fear the sounds they hear, 
     D               A 
Make banditos out of molehills, 
           A             D 
Fill their hearts with porcupine quills, 
                 E 
They're dead and buried long before they go. 


F#m                           A 
Charlton Heston movies are no longer in demand, 
    F#m                        A 
And his immortal soul may lay forever in the sand, 
    D                               A 
The angels wouldn't take him up to heaven like he planned, 
             E                            Bm        F#m 
'Cuz they couldn't pry that gun from his Cold Dead Hand. 


           E                  D                  A 
It takes a cold, dead hand to decide to pull the trigger, 
        E                         D             A 
Takes a cold, dead heart, and as near as I can figure, 
          C#m                              D                  A 
With your cold, dead aim, you're trying to prove your dick is bigger 
       E 
But we know, 
     D           Bm     A        F#m 
Your chariot may not be swinging low. 

           E 
Cold, Dead Hand. 
           A 
Cold, Dead Hand. 
           E 
Cold, Dead Hand. 
           A 
Cold, Dead hand. 
         F#m      E          F#m          E 
You're a big, big man with a little bitty gland, 
       F#m            E              F#m                   F#m 
So you need something bigger just to fill your...Cold Dead Hand. 


        A                             D                      A 
Imagine if the Lord were here, and he knew what you've been thinkin', 
          D                 A                E 
Would his sacred heart be sinkin', into the canyon of dismay? 
           A                                     D               A 
And on the ones who sell the guns, he'd sick the vultures and coyotes, 
         D            A 
Only the devil's true devotees 
            E 
Could profiteer from pain and fear. 


(Repeat verses 3-5) 

         F#m      E          F#m          E 
You're a big, big man with a little bitty gland, 
       F#m            E             F#m     E 
So you need something bigger with a hairpin trigger, 
          F#m       E                F#m      E 
You don't wanna get caught with your trousers down, 
         F#m    E      F#m   E 
When the psycho killer comes around. 
       F#m       E           F#m     E 
So you make your home like a Thunderdome, 
           F#m    E            F#m       E 
And you're always packin' everywhere you roam, 
        F#m     E             F#m      E 
And the psychos win no matter what you do, 
             F#m       E        F#m       E 
'Cuz they're gonna buy way more guns than you. 


(double time) 
    F#m          E         F#m    E 
And while you're stumblin' out of bed, 
     F#m      E             F#m          E 
they put five rounds in the back of your head, 
       F#m     E              F#m        E 
Or you get depressed 'cuz the money went South, 
        F#m          E       F#m     E 
and you put your own shotgun in your mouth, 
         F#m       E           F#m      E 
and your kids walk in and they find you there, 
       F#m      E            F#m    E 
like a headless lump in your underwear, 
          

         F#m      E          F#m        E 
and they move the gun and it kills them too, 
         F#m       E            F#m     E 
and your wife just doesn't know what to do, 
       F#m     E             F#m     E 
so she takes a hand-grenade from her shoe, 
        F#m 
and she pulls the pin. 

And it's all on you... 
         Bm         F#m 
And your Cold, Dead Hand. 

(final notes? D-C#-B-A-G#-F#)