Biography:
Robbie Fulks is an alt country artist originally from Raleigh, North Carolina but is a longtime Chicago, Illinois resident. He has been active for many years and is still recording and performing music. Fulks is known for his disdain of mainstream modern country and the country music industry, as exemplified by his scorching rebuke of Nashville titled "Fuck This Town." His live performances feature improvised rearrangments of his original songs, off-the-cuff musical humor, and covers of songs by Michael Jackson and Cher, among others.
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ROOTS ROCK WEIRDOES (Fulks) -- in Em
VS1
Em B7
The town was hardly stirring, the night clubs all were closed
Am Em C9 B9 Em C9-B9
Only a washed-up cover band hittin' the stage at Joe's
Em Am
The guitar hit the first bar of "Secret Agent Man"
Am7 G B7 Em
A door in the back flew open, and into the room they ran!
CH
A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, up from the underground
D B G A Em
Starved for a Tele or a B3 -- any out-of-fashion sound
A7 G A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
D A Em
Dressed up like it's 1951.
VS2
Em B7
Well, they looked the band gear over and they noted with delight
Am Em C9 B9 Em C9-B9
The guitar amp was a Bassman, and the bass man played upright
Em Am
Then they looked 'round at each other, and they cried, "We Are The Best!
Am7 G B7 Em
For we like unpopular music, and just look at the way we're dressed!"
CH2
A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, slapping each others' backs
D B G A Em
Using the hepcat language they thought made them sound black
A7 G A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, smoking their Camels straight
D A Em
Makin' sure there was nothing up to date.
VS3
Em B7
Now Joe, he was slow to anger, but that barkeep found it hard
Am Em C9 B9 Em C9-B9
Just to watch the air grow toxic with smoke and self-regard
Em Am
So he jumped up on a barstool and he shouted out loud and clear:
Am7 G B7 Em
"I don't know just what you weirdoes want, but I don't want you in here!"
VS4
Em B7
The room grew deathly silent, then up from the stinking ranks
Am Em C9 B9 Em B9
Rose a homely social worker in a bowling shirt marked "Hank"
Em Am
And dropping the fake black diction, he said, "Since you enquired,
Am7 G C9 B7 Em B7 Em
Let me take stock of what we roots rock -- ahem! -- 'weirdoes' desire...."
VS5
Em Am
Fishnets for every woman, and lipstick as red as flame
G B Em B
For every man a tatoo, a Chevy, and a dumb nickname
Em Am
Cigarettes in every shirtsleeve, black leather on every back,
G B Em B
Fanzines in every bookstore, LPs in each record rack.
VS6
Em Am
Three chords in every pop song! Four white guys in each band!
G B Em
A ruthless media empire to saturate this land
B Em Am
Then, with our alt.country comrades, and our brothers in neo-swing,
G B Em
We'll reclaim music from the kids for our fat dead cracker king!"
CH3
A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, Christ! They're everywhere!
D B G A Em
A little Doc Pomus in their hearts and dark pomade in their hair
A7 G A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
D A Em
Dressed up like it's 1951.
VS1
Em B7
The town was hardly stirring, the night clubs all were closed
Am Em C9 B9 Em C9-B9
Only a washed-up cover band hittin' the stage at Joe's
Em Am
The guitar hit the first bar of "Secret Agent Man"
Am7 G B7 Em
A door in the back flew open, and into the room they ran!
CH
A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, up from the underground
D B G A Em
Starved for a Tele or a B3 -- any out-of-fashion sound
A7 G A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
D A Em
Dressed up like it's 1951.
VS2
Em B7
Well, they looked the band gear over and they noted with delight
Am Em C9 B9 Em C9-B9
The guitar amp was a Bassman, and the bass man played upright
Em Am
Then they looked 'round at each other, and they cried, "We Are The Best!
Am7 G B7 Em
For we like unpopular music, and just look at the way we're dressed!"
CH2
A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, slapping each others' backs
D B G A Em
Using the hepcat language they thought made them sound black
A7 G A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, smoking their Camels straight
D A Em
Makin' sure there was nothing up to date.
VS3
Em B7
Now Joe, he was slow to anger, but that barkeep found it hard
Am Em C9 B9 Em C9-B9
Just to watch the air grow toxic with smoke and self-regard
Em Am
So he jumped up on a barstool and he shouted out loud and clear:
Am7 G B7 Em
"I don't know just what you weirdoes want, but I don't want you in here!"
VS4
Em B7
The room grew deathly silent, then up from the stinking ranks
Am Em C9 B9 Em B9
Rose a homely social worker in a bowling shirt marked "Hank"
Em Am
And dropping the fake black diction, he said, "Since you enquired,
Am7 G C9 B7 Em B7 Em
Let me take stock of what we roots rock -- ahem! -- 'weirdoes' desire...."
VS5
Em Am
Fishnets for every woman, and lipstick as red as flame
G B Em B
For every man a tatoo, a Chevy, and a dumb nickname
Em Am
Cigarettes in every shirtsleeve, black leather on every back,
G B Em B
Fanzines in every bookstore, LPs in each record rack.
VS6
Em Am
Three chords in every pop song! Four white guys in each band!
G B Em
A ruthless media empire to saturate this land
B Em Am
Then, with our alt.country comrades, and our brothers in neo-swing,
G B Em
We'll reclaim music from the kids for our fat dead cracker king!"
CH3
A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, Christ! They're everywhere!
D B G A Em
A little Doc Pomus in their hearts and dark pomade in their hair
A7 G A7 Em
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
D A Em
Dressed up like it's 1951.
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