The Chief Smiles chords and lyrics - WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS

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[Verse 1]
Here in the middle of [Gm]a film
to find [C]myself one of [Am]the actors.
[Gm]The chief has asked me
to his house for dinner.
Around eight, Rogers.
[Gm]Help yourself to a drink, Rogers,
[Bb]he gestures to the drink wagon.
[Gm]There's keef, of course, if you [Am]want it.
[G]I mix myself a s[Gm]hort drink
and decline the keef.
It gives me a headache.
I'd seen the [F#]chief smoking
with his Arab contacts,
[Gm]but that d[G]idn't give
me a license to smoke.
[Gm]Be sides, it does give me a [G]headache.
The chief's cover story
is an eccentric [C]old French [G]count
who is translating [Bb]the Koran
[G]into Provençal.
[Gm]An d[F] sometimes
[G]he will pull cover
and bore his [Bb]guests catatonic.
[G]You see, he really knows
Provençal and Arabic.
[Bb]The [F]chief wasn't p[G]ulling cover tonight.
He [D]was expansive,
and watch your step, Roger[G]s,
I told [Am]myself, sipping a weak scotch.
[F]So I think you[D]'re the man
[G]for a highly important,
and I may add highly dangerous,
assignment, [G]Rogers.
You fell [Bb]for that crap."
[G]"'Well, sir, he is im[F]pressive,'
I [Eb]said cautiously.
[G]"'He's a cheap old ham,'
said the chief.
He [C]sat down and filled his
keep [G]-bite with one [F#]hand.
[G]He smoked and [B]blew the ash [E#]out,
ab[G]sently caressing [F#]a gazelle
that nuzzled [D#m]his knee.
[G]Gotta stay ahead of the commies
or everybody's [C]kids will be
learn[Am]ing Chinese.
[G]What a windbag.
I endeavor to look noncommittal.
[E#]Have[G] you any i[D]dea
what we're [C]doing here, Roger[G]s?
[F#]Well, no, sir. [G]I thought not.
[C]Never tell them what you want
until you've [A#]got them where
you [G]want them.
I'm going to show you
[B]a documentary [G]film.
Well, I happened onto this good
thing
through a Mexican shoeshine boy.
You, Kiki, come out here
and show Mr. Rogers how
[G]pretty you are.
Kiki stands in the doorway smiling.
[G]Now, that lad, he's a doll,
isn't he?
He's [C]one of the best deep trance [C]me
diums I have ever handled.
[G]Through him,
[C]was able to teleport myself to a Mayan [A#]set
and bring back the pictures.
[C]The whole thing was so frantic,
I [Dm]cooled it all the way up in my [A#]reports.
[G]All I [C]said was,
it [A#]looks like a lovely weapon.
[B]Ah, that's code for weapon
of unlimited poten[G]tial.
Now he's hopping up now.
[C]The old priest [G]rocks back and forth.
His [C]lips part,
and a dry [G]insect music b[E#]uzzes out.[G]
It's known as singing the pictures.
The principle is alternating
current.
Now that old fuck can alternate
pain and pleasure
on a [G]sub -vocal,
perhaps even a molecular level,
60 [C]times a second.
[G]Goating the natives [D]around
on stock probes
[G]into the prearranged [B]molds
laid down in the [C]sacred books.
Now, few singer[G]s can deliver a direct current,
and they are only called in an emergency.
The control system you have
[C]just seen broke down.
[G]This happened [C]quite suddenly.
[G]A who[C]le generation was bor[Am]n
that [D]felt neither [A#]pain nor pleasure.
There were no soldier[G]s to
bring captives from other tribe[C]s
since [G]soldiers [C]would have endangered
[G]the control machine.
They relied en[Em]tirely on [G]local criminals
for the pain and pleasure pictures.
[E#]As a last [G]resort,
they called [C]in the incomparable
yellow serpent.
[G]The serpent is carried in
on his [C]amber throne,
blue snake eyes,
skin [C]-like yellow parchment,
[G]two[C#] long ser[B]pent fangs
grafted into [G]the upper jaw.
As the current pulses through him,
he be[Abm]gins to rock [G]back and forth.
He shifts from A .C. to D .C.
A thin siren wail [C]breaks from his [B]lips
now [Am]open to the yellow [G]fangs.
Death, death, death,
the pictures crash and leak from [B]his eyes,
[G]blasting worker and priest alike to
[Am]smoldering fragments.
[G]Death, death, death,
a thin siren wail rises
[B]and fal[Bm]ls over emp[G]ty cities.
This secret of the ancient Mayans,
which few are competent to practice.
[G]When comes such another singer
as the old yellow [G]serpent?
Now, the technical department
think we are all as crazy
as our [C]way of life is
[Am]reprehensible.[C]
[D]Bring us the ones [C]that work, they say,
facts, fig[C]ures, person[G]nel.
Put that joker Death on the line.
Take care [C]of Mayo and his
[Bb]gang of [C]cutthroats.
[G]I was privileged to as [Bb]sist,
in a manner of speaking,
[G]at the [D]Yellow Serpent's last broadcast [G]in
[F]Washington, D [F#].C. [G]Room in the Pentagon.
General's [C]CIA State Department
[G]fid[B]get about [Bb]with that top -secret,
hottest -thing -ever look,
open [B]line to the president,
strategic [Am]in NATO, [G]standing by.
[D]The old yellow [G]serpent
is carried in [C]by four Marine guards.
[C]He begins to rock back and forth.
He breathes in [B]baby coos
and breathes out [Bb]death rattles.
He [C]sucks in wheat fields
and spits [Bb]out dust bowls.
He's just warming up,
says [F#]a CIA man
[Abm]to a five -star gentleman.
The old serpent shifts to D .C.,
[Bbm]blazing like a comet.
Death, death, death.
The pictures lash and
[F#]crackle from his eyes.
Death, death, death.
A wall blows out, spilling [B]brass
[Bb]18 floors to the street.
Death, death, death.
And now the serpent
swings his whip in the sky.
Here live stupid,
vulgar sons of bitches
who thought they could hire death
as a company cop.
Empty streets,
old newspapers in the wind,
a rustle of darkness and wires.
Applause