A Chat with Your Mother
Words and music by Lou & Peter Berryman © 1993


           Dm               C               Bb               A7
There are pirates in their fetid galleons, daggers in their skivvies
        Dm             C            Bb             A7
With infected tattooed fingers on a blunderbuss or two
          Gm             Dm            C                Dm
Signs of scurvy in their eyes and only mermaids on their minds
                                                  Gm       A7
It's from them I would expect to hear the F-word, not from you

	Chorus (repeated after each verse):
	 D       A       D      A          D      A       D      A
	We sit down to have a chat, it's F-word this and F-word that
	     G       A       D         A      D            A
	I can't control how you young people talk to one another
	       D       A    D       A       D      A         D
	But I don't wanna hear you use that F-word with your mother

There are lumberjacks from Kodiak vacationing in Anchorage,
Enchanted with their pine-tar soup and Caribou shampoo,
With seven weeks of back pay in their aromatic woolens;
It’s from them I would expect to hear the F-word, not from you.

There’s the militant survivalists in Gucci bandoleeros,
Taking tacky khaki walkie-talkies to the rendezvous;
Trading all the latest armour-piercing ammo information;
It’s from them I would expect to hear the F-word, not from you.

There are jocks who think that God himself is drooling in the bleachers,
In a cold November downpour with a belly full of glue
Whose entire grasp of heaven has a lot to do with football;
It’s from them I would expect to hear the F-word, not from you.

There’s unsavoury musicians with their filthy pinko lyrics
Who destroy the social fabric and enjoy it when they do,
With their groupies and addictions and their poor heartbroken parents;
It’s from them I would expect to hear the F-word, not from you.