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White Boots Marching In A Yellow Land
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Phil Ochs
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1
E C#m A E
2
The pilots playing poker in the cockpit of the plane
3
C#m A F#m
4
The casualties arriving like the dropping of the rain
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E C#m A B
6
And a mountain of machinery will fall before a man
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E G#m A B E
8
When you're white boots marching in a yellow land
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It's written in the ashes of the village towns we burn
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It's written in the empty bed of the fathers unreturned
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And the chocolate in the childrens eyes will never understand
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When you're white boots marching in a yellow land
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C#m
14
Red blow the bugles of the dawn
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B
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The morning has arrived you must be gone
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A B
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And the lost patrol chase their chartered(*) souls
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E D
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Like cold/old(?) whores following tired armies
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Train them well, the men who will be fighting by your side
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And never turn your back if the battle turns the tide
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For the colours of a civil war are louder than commands
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When you're white boots marching in a yellow land
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Blow them from the forest and burn them from your sight
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Tie their hands behind their back and question through the night
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But when the firing squad is ready they'll be spitting where they stand
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At the white boots marching in a yellow land
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Red blow the bugles of the dawn
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The morning has arrived you must be gone
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And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls
32
Like cold whores following tired armies
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The comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the stage
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Raw recruits are lining up like coffins in a cage
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We're fighting in a war we lost before the war began
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We're the white boots marching in a yellow land
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And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls
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like cold whores following tired armies
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