Intro: A D A
Bm
Nobokov is sun-licked now
D
Upon the beach at Gruenwald
Bm
Brilliant and naked just
G
The way that authors looks
A
Bm
Clare and Lady Manners drink
D
Until the other cows go home
Bm
Gossip till their lips are bleeding
G
Politics and all
A
Em A
I'd rather be high
A Em A
I'd rather be flying
Dm
I'd rather be dead
F#m
Or out of my head
Dm D
Than training these guns on those men in the sand
D
I'd rather be high
A
Bm
The Thames was black, the tower dark
D
I flew to Cairo, find my regiment
Bm
City's full of generals
G
And generals full of shit
A
https://www.coveralia.com/acordes/i-d-rather-be-high-david-bowie.php
Bm
I stumble to the graveyard and I
D
Lay down by my parents, whisper
Bm
Just remember duckies
G
Everybody gets got
A
Em A
I'd rather be high
Em A
I'd rather be flying
Dm
I'd rather be dead
F#m
Or out of my head
Dm D
Than training these guns of those men in the sand
A
I'd rather be high
D A
I'm seventeen and my looks can prove it
D A
I'm so afraid that I will lose it
E
I'd rather smoke and phone my ex
C7
Be pleading for some teenage sex
A
Yeah
Em A
I'd rather be high
Em A
I'd rather be flying
Dm
I'd rather be dead
F#m
Or out of my head
Dm D
Than training these guns on the men in the sand
A
I'd rather be high
