Phil Ochs – White Boots Marching In A Yellow Land (Guitar)

C                  Am           F              C
The pilots playing poker in the cockpit of the plane,

Am             F                 Dm
the casualties arriving like the dropping of the rain.

C                 Am             F             G
And a mountain of machinery will fall before a man,

C                F                   G       C
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land

C                   Am          F                 C
It's written in the ashes of the village towns we burn,

Am                  F             Dm
it's written in the empty beds of fathers unreturned.

C                        Am              F          G
And the chocolate in the children’s eyes will never understand,

C           F           G             C
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land.

Am      
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,

G         
the morning has arrived, you must be gone.

F                                   G
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,

C                             Bb                  - C
like old whores following tired armies.

C                Am                  F                C
Train them well, the men who will be fighting by your side,

Am               F                    Dm
and never turn your back, if the battle turns the tide,

C                    Am            F           G
for the colours of a civil war are louder than commands,

C                F                   G       C
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land.

C                  Am         F                   C
Blow them from the forest and burn them from your sight,

Am                                 F                           Dm
tie their hands behind their backs, and question through the night.

C            Am                                 F                   G
But when the firing squad is ready, they'll be spitting where they stand,

C      F           G              C
at the white boots marching in a yellow land.

Am      
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,

G         
the morning has arrived, you must be gone.

F                                   G
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,

C                             Bb                  - C
like old whores following tired armies.

C                 Am               F              C
The comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the stage,

Am                               F              Dm
raw recruits are lining up like coffins in a cage.

C         Am                        F              G
Oh, we're fighting in a war we lost before the war began,

C               F                   G       C
we're the white boots marching in a yellow land.

Am      
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,

G         
the morning has arrived you must be gone.

F                                   G
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,

C        Bb                  - C
like old whores following tired armies.