Тональность: C major
Intro 1
G
F
G
F
G
Verse 1
howling on your mountain
F
G
And the rain is pounding
on your shoulder
You feel rich, still getting richer
C
G
still getting poorer
F
C
G
You're poor, still getting poorer
I've rambled through your city
F
G
And I've rambled through your town,
I slept many a night
F
Your grey high walls with floors
G
as cold as your ground
F
G
There was no other bed to be found
Verse 2
G
Your roadway hurts my feet
F
G
My suitcase hurts my hand
Your highway son burns my face
F
G
But I know I can't stop trav
eling through your land
F
G
I know I can't stop ped
aling through your land
Your cold rock has been my pillow
F
C
G
Your ground has been my bed
Your highway was my home
F
G
By your fence rail I'm gonna lay my head
F
G
By your fence rail I'm gonna
F
G
F
G
lay my head
I've rambled through your
southern country
F
G
Where grief and sickness fill the air
I've rambled through your
southern country
F
G
There was children born everywhere
F
C
G
There was children dyin' everywhere
I've watched your wealthy
wheeler -dealers
F
G
Puttin' in a poor man freeze
right to the bone
They're money -whiskey women
They ever leave their side
F
Like a poor man they're bound
F
Yes, they were born and
G
they're gonna die alone
I've met your fair and tender ladies
F
G
My face is like a key to their front door
But a rambler's the kind of man
that's never married
F
They'll keep on lovin' you
G
a hundred times or more
F
C
Still keep on lovin' you a hundred times
G
F
G
or more
F
G
Sometimes I get sober
F
C
Sometimes get warm to
Though your wind is a
-howlin' round my shoulder
F
C
G
Well, my blood is frozen, pa cify my mind
F
Well, my blood is frozen,
G
think I'm feelin' fine
Your boxcar ain't no fiddle bit
F
G
Your whistle ain't no lovebird song
Your tracks ain't no ladder,
my true love's arm
F
G
To a train, please don't hold my arm
F
C
It's a train that's goin' home,
G
F
G
F
G
I know
Oh, where is that man you called
Jesus?
He never come when I could have my door
G
G
On my hands and my knees I've
been searchin'
F
G
But the only thing I found was my floor
F
G
But the only thing I found was your floor
G
People say a rambler's born to lose
F
Yeah, a gambler's always
G
born with a wounded hand
I try to close my ears when I
hear you whistle blow
F
But I know a man's got
bread and fruit to land
I know he's not ready to leave
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