The Name Is Clem Snide (1981) chords and lyrics - WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS

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[Verse 1]
[G]The name is
Clem
[F]Schneid. I am a private [G]asshole.
As a private [C]investigator, I
[F#]run into more death
than the law allows. I mean the law
of averages.
[G]Here's [F#]a routine case of industri
[A#]al sabotage and
factory [E]blows up [Em]killing 23 [E#]people.
[Am]Well [F#]these things hap[A#]pen. [B]I
am a [F#]man of the
world going to and fro and
walking [G]up and down in [F#]it.
[C]Now death [G]smell[F#]s. I mean
death has a special smell.
Over and above the smell of cyanide,
cordite, blood
[G]carrying [F#]her burnt flesh.
It's a gray smell that [G]stops the heart,
[F#]cuts off [E#]the
breath, [A#]smell of the empty [F#]body,
[G#m]smell of [F#]field hospitals and gangrene. I got a whiff
of it when
Mr.
Green walked [E#]into my [F#]office.
Now
Ernest
Hemingway could smell
it on others too.
[C#]Here he is in a
Jeep with
General
[A#]Lanham [F]known as
[Bb]Bucky to
his friends an[Gb]d
Ernie was a real [Bb]gener[Gb]al lover.
It's worse than being a cop lover.
[G]Well here [F#]they are and he's
returning from the front line where
Ma[F]jor
Jones
[F#]was in charge.
Have to re[E]lieve that man says
[F#]Bucky.
[F]Bucky [E]says
Ernie you won't
[F#]have to relieve him.
He won't make it.
He stinks of death.
When the jeep reached
regimental command post it was stopped
by the turn of
Colonel
John
Ruggles.
[G]General said
[F]Ruggles saluting [Bb]the major
has just been killed.
[F#]Who takes the first
[Bb]battalion?
[F#]Well
Mr.
Hart isn't trying to be a nice
guy [C#]any longer.[Bb]
[F#]It is he
decides uphill and rather unrewarding [C]work.
[F#]Mr.
Hart sets out to [F]beat death.
[Bb]He
[F#]learns to kill through his newspapers and
[Abm]he teaches his [F#]editors the tricks as
they [E]crawl up [F#]his ladder.
Now you just move this tenement
[Abm]fire over here and
burn some [F]more niggers.
[F#]Chuckling over roasted babies,
[G]car ac[F#]cidents and riots
like a southern lawman feeling
his [D]nigger [F#]notches.
Mr.
Hart has to be inhuman
because humans are mortal,
and
Mr.
Hart is addicted to immortality.
He's addicted to an immortality
predic[E]ated on the [F#]mor tality
[G]of others, [Eb]gooks, [F#]niggers,
wags, human dogs,
and feeling his own contempt
for these apes
affords him [Bb]a mineral calm.
[F#]He's addicted to a certain
brain frequency,
[A#]a little [F#]high [G]blue [B]don't feel so [A#]good,
that feeling he can just [F#]swim in
it forever and ever.
And [E#]this cool [A#]blue [F#]frequency [G#]comes
[F#]from making hands tremble and sweat,
from feel[Am]ing the dear [A]merit[G#m]orious
[F#]poor wriggle and slobber [E#]under his b[F#]oots,
for making people ugly and [G]grind in their faces
[F#]and from [A#]knowing can squash
an editor [F#]like a bug and seeing his
editor [C#]and know [A#]it.
[F#]See the action
BJ
this [E]old [F#]searching tycoon with this
[C#]dark [F#]side [F#]to his character.
Mr.
[F#]Hart death will not serve [G#]a stranger
who cannot prove [F#]his title a gringo who
[G]fears the [F#]very word and sets up a house ruled [E]the word
death may [D#]not be pronounced in h[C#]is presence.
[F#]Hey,[A#]
[F#]look at all them dead bodies.
Audre points with his left hand as virus
[E]B -23 surfacing from
remote [G#m]sea s of pasti[G#]me rages th[F#]rough cities
of the world like a topping forest fire.
Last take,
Mr.
[A#]Hart's deserted, ruined mansion,
[F#]graffiti on the walls.
Ah,
Pook was here.
Here lived a stupid, vulgar son of a bitch who
thought he could hire death as a company cop.
Yes, sir.
Thank
Thank you.