Chords for Gil Scott-Heron - Comment #1
Tempo:
128.15 bpm
Chords used:
E
Ab
C
F
Dbm
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Start Jamming...
Poem here says comment number one, comment number two was dynamite, but comment number
one was the one that we decided to use here this evening [C] because it makes [Gb] a comment, if
you listen [F] closely, on what is now being advertised in [Em] East Harlem as [F] the Rainbow Conspiracy,
a combination of the Students for a Democratic Society, the Black Panthers, and the Young Lords.
And this is my particular comment [Eb] [E] about that conspiracy.
Comment [Bb] number one.
[E]
The time is in the street, you know, us living as we do, upside down, and the new word to
have is revolution.
People don't even want to hear the preacher's snill or spiel because God's whole card has
been thoroughly peaked, and America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey.
The youngsters who were programmed to continue fucking up woke up one night digging Paul
Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys.
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes.
The signs of truth were tattooed across our often [Ab] injured vagina.
We learned to our amazement the untold tale of scandal.
Two [Dbm] long centuries buried in a musty [G] vault, hosed down [Abm] daily with a gagging perfume.
America was a bastard, the [Ab] illegitimate daughter of the mother country whose legs were then
spread around the world, and a rapist known as Freedom, Free Doom.
Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling, bubbling,
bubbling, bubbling, bubbling in the mother country's crotch.
And behold, a baby girl was born, nurtured by slaveholders and whitey racists.
It grew and grew and grew, screwing indiscriminately, like mother, like daughter, everything unplagued
by her madder mother.
The present mocks us, good black people with keen memories set fire to the bastards who
ask us in a whisper to melt and integrate.
Young, very young, teeny bopping, revolt on weekend young dig by proxy what a mental ass
kicking they receive through institutionalized everything and [Dbm] vomit up slogans to stay out of Vietnam.
They seek to hide their relationship with the world's [Ab] prostitute, alienating themselves
from [E] everything except dirt and money with long hair, grime, and [Ab] dope to camouflage the
things that cannot be hidden.
They become runaway children to walk the streets downtown with everyday black people
sitting on the curb crying because we know that they will go back home with a clear conscience
and a college degree.
The irony of it all, of course, is when a pale-faced SDS motherfucker [Gm] dares look hurt
[E] when I tell him to go find his own revolution.
He wonders why I tell him that America's revolution will not be the melting pot but the toilet bowl.
He is fighting for legalized smoke, a lower voting age, less lip from his generation gap,
and fucking in the street.
Where's my parallel to that?
All I want is a good home and a wife and children and some food to feed them every night.
Back goes pale-faced to [C] basics.
Does little [Ab] orphan Annie have a natural?
Do Sluggo's kinks make him a refugee from Mandingo?
What does Webster say about soul?
I say, you silly trite motherfucker, your great-grandfather tied a ball and chain to
my balls and bounced me through a cotton field while I lived in an unflushable toilet bowl.
And now you want me to help you overthrow what?
The only truth that can be delivered to a four-year revolutionary [A] with a hold [Abm] card,
i.e. skin, is this.
Fuck up what you can in the name of Piggy Wallace, Dickless Nixon, and Spiro Agnew.
Leave [G] Brother [E] Cleaver and Brother Malcolm alone, please.
After all is said and done, build a new route to China if they'll have you.
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive [C] in America?
Who will survive in [N] America?
one was the one that we decided to use here this evening [C] because it makes [Gb] a comment, if
you listen [F] closely, on what is now being advertised in [Em] East Harlem as [F] the Rainbow Conspiracy,
a combination of the Students for a Democratic Society, the Black Panthers, and the Young Lords.
And this is my particular comment [Eb] [E] about that conspiracy.
Comment [Bb] number one.
[E]
The time is in the street, you know, us living as we do, upside down, and the new word to
have is revolution.
People don't even want to hear the preacher's snill or spiel because God's whole card has
been thoroughly peaked, and America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey.
The youngsters who were programmed to continue fucking up woke up one night digging Paul
Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys.
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes.
The signs of truth were tattooed across our often [Ab] injured vagina.
We learned to our amazement the untold tale of scandal.
Two [Dbm] long centuries buried in a musty [G] vault, hosed down [Abm] daily with a gagging perfume.
America was a bastard, the [Ab] illegitimate daughter of the mother country whose legs were then
spread around the world, and a rapist known as Freedom, Free Doom.
Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling, bubbling,
bubbling, bubbling, bubbling in the mother country's crotch.
And behold, a baby girl was born, nurtured by slaveholders and whitey racists.
It grew and grew and grew, screwing indiscriminately, like mother, like daughter, everything unplagued
by her madder mother.
The present mocks us, good black people with keen memories set fire to the bastards who
ask us in a whisper to melt and integrate.
Young, very young, teeny bopping, revolt on weekend young dig by proxy what a mental ass
kicking they receive through institutionalized everything and [Dbm] vomit up slogans to stay out of Vietnam.
They seek to hide their relationship with the world's [Ab] prostitute, alienating themselves
from [E] everything except dirt and money with long hair, grime, and [Ab] dope to camouflage the
things that cannot be hidden.
They become runaway children to walk the streets downtown with everyday black people
sitting on the curb crying because we know that they will go back home with a clear conscience
and a college degree.
The irony of it all, of course, is when a pale-faced SDS motherfucker [Gm] dares look hurt
[E] when I tell him to go find his own revolution.
He wonders why I tell him that America's revolution will not be the melting pot but the toilet bowl.
He is fighting for legalized smoke, a lower voting age, less lip from his generation gap,
and fucking in the street.
Where's my parallel to that?
All I want is a good home and a wife and children and some food to feed them every night.
Back goes pale-faced to [C] basics.
Does little [Ab] orphan Annie have a natural?
Do Sluggo's kinks make him a refugee from Mandingo?
What does Webster say about soul?
I say, you silly trite motherfucker, your great-grandfather tied a ball and chain to
my balls and bounced me through a cotton field while I lived in an unflushable toilet bowl.
And now you want me to help you overthrow what?
The only truth that can be delivered to a four-year revolutionary [A] with a hold [Abm] card,
i.e. skin, is this.
Fuck up what you can in the name of Piggy Wallace, Dickless Nixon, and Spiro Agnew.
Leave [G] Brother [E] Cleaver and Brother Malcolm alone, please.
After all is said and done, build a new route to China if they'll have you.
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive [C] in America?
Who will survive in [N] America?
Key:
E
Ab
C
F
Dbm
E
Ab
C
_ Poem here says comment number one, comment number two was dynamite, _ but comment number
one was the one that we decided to use here this evening [C] because it makes [Gb] a comment, if
you listen [F] closely, on what is now being advertised in [Em] East Harlem as [F] the Rainbow Conspiracy, _
a combination of the Students for a Democratic Society, the Black Panthers, and the Young Lords.
And this is my particular comment [Eb] [E] about that conspiracy.
Comment [Bb] number one.
_ _ _ _ _ _ [E] _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The _ _ _ _ time is in the street, you know, us living as we do, upside down, and the new word to
have is revolution.
_ _ _ People don't even want to hear the preacher's snill or spiel because God's whole card has
been thoroughly peaked, and America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey.
_ _ The youngsters who were programmed to continue fucking up woke up one night digging Paul
Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys. _ _
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes.
The signs of truth were tattooed across our often [Ab] injured vagina.
We learned to our amazement the untold tale of scandal.
Two [Dbm] long centuries buried in a musty [G] vault, hosed down [Abm] daily with a gagging perfume. _
America was a bastard, the [Ab] illegitimate daughter of the mother country whose legs were then
spread around the world, and a rapist known as Freedom, Free Doom.
_ _ Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling, bubbling,
bubbling, bubbling, bubbling in the mother country's crotch.
And behold, a baby girl was born, nurtured by slaveholders and whitey racists.
It grew and grew and grew, screwing indiscriminately, like mother, like daughter, everything unplagued
by her madder mother.
_ _ The present mocks us, good black people with keen memories set fire to the bastards who
ask us in a whisper to melt and integrate.
_ Young, very young, teeny bopping, revolt on weekend young dig by proxy what a mental ass
kicking they receive through _ institutionalized everything and [Dbm] vomit up slogans to stay out of Vietnam.
_ They seek to hide their relationship with the world's [Ab] prostitute, alienating themselves
from [E] everything except dirt and money with long hair, grime, and [Ab] dope to camouflage the
things that cannot be hidden.
They become runaway children to walk the streets downtown with everyday black people
sitting on the curb crying because we know that they will go back home with a clear conscience
and a college degree.
The irony of it all, of course, is when a pale-faced SDS motherfucker [Gm] dares look hurt
[E] when I tell him to go find his own revolution.
_ He wonders why I tell him that America's revolution will not be the melting pot but the toilet bowl.
He is fighting for legalized smoke, a lower voting age, less lip from his generation gap,
and fucking in the street.
Where's my parallel to that?
All I want is a good home and a wife and children and some food to feed them every night.
Back goes pale-faced to [C] basics.
Does little [Ab] orphan Annie have a natural?
Do Sluggo's kinks make him a refugee from Mandingo?
What does Webster say about soul?
I say, you silly trite motherfucker, your great-grandfather tied a ball and chain to
my balls and bounced me through a cotton field while I lived in an unflushable toilet bowl.
And now you want me to help you overthrow what?
The only truth that can be delivered to a four-year revolutionary [A] with a hold [Abm] card,
i.e. skin, is this.
Fuck up what you can in the name of Piggy Wallace, Dickless Nixon, and Spiro Agnew.
Leave [G] Brother [E] Cleaver and Brother Malcolm alone, please.
After all is said and done, build a new route to China if they'll have you.
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive [C] in America?
Who will survive in [N] America? _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
one was the one that we decided to use here this evening [C] because it makes [Gb] a comment, if
you listen [F] closely, on what is now being advertised in [Em] East Harlem as [F] the Rainbow Conspiracy, _
a combination of the Students for a Democratic Society, the Black Panthers, and the Young Lords.
And this is my particular comment [Eb] [E] about that conspiracy.
Comment [Bb] number one.
_ _ _ _ _ _ [E] _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The _ _ _ _ time is in the street, you know, us living as we do, upside down, and the new word to
have is revolution.
_ _ _ People don't even want to hear the preacher's snill or spiel because God's whole card has
been thoroughly peaked, and America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey.
_ _ The youngsters who were programmed to continue fucking up woke up one night digging Paul
Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys. _ _
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes.
The signs of truth were tattooed across our often [Ab] injured vagina.
We learned to our amazement the untold tale of scandal.
Two [Dbm] long centuries buried in a musty [G] vault, hosed down [Abm] daily with a gagging perfume. _
America was a bastard, the [Ab] illegitimate daughter of the mother country whose legs were then
spread around the world, and a rapist known as Freedom, Free Doom.
_ _ Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling, bubbling,
bubbling, bubbling, bubbling in the mother country's crotch.
And behold, a baby girl was born, nurtured by slaveholders and whitey racists.
It grew and grew and grew, screwing indiscriminately, like mother, like daughter, everything unplagued
by her madder mother.
_ _ The present mocks us, good black people with keen memories set fire to the bastards who
ask us in a whisper to melt and integrate.
_ Young, very young, teeny bopping, revolt on weekend young dig by proxy what a mental ass
kicking they receive through _ institutionalized everything and [Dbm] vomit up slogans to stay out of Vietnam.
_ They seek to hide their relationship with the world's [Ab] prostitute, alienating themselves
from [E] everything except dirt and money with long hair, grime, and [Ab] dope to camouflage the
things that cannot be hidden.
They become runaway children to walk the streets downtown with everyday black people
sitting on the curb crying because we know that they will go back home with a clear conscience
and a college degree.
The irony of it all, of course, is when a pale-faced SDS motherfucker [Gm] dares look hurt
[E] when I tell him to go find his own revolution.
_ He wonders why I tell him that America's revolution will not be the melting pot but the toilet bowl.
He is fighting for legalized smoke, a lower voting age, less lip from his generation gap,
and fucking in the street.
Where's my parallel to that?
All I want is a good home and a wife and children and some food to feed them every night.
Back goes pale-faced to [C] basics.
Does little [Ab] orphan Annie have a natural?
Do Sluggo's kinks make him a refugee from Mandingo?
What does Webster say about soul?
I say, you silly trite motherfucker, your great-grandfather tied a ball and chain to
my balls and bounced me through a cotton field while I lived in an unflushable toilet bowl.
And now you want me to help you overthrow what?
The only truth that can be delivered to a four-year revolutionary [A] with a hold [Abm] card,
i.e. skin, is this.
Fuck up what you can in the name of Piggy Wallace, Dickless Nixon, and Spiro Agnew.
Leave [G] Brother [E] Cleaver and Brother Malcolm alone, please.
After all is said and done, build a new route to China if they'll have you.
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive [C] in America?
Who will survive in [N] America? _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _