The White Buffalo - Sycamore

I don't s^Fee nothing w^Grong being a ^Fdrea^Cmer I'e been ^Ffloating for so ^Clong from the^G shore

the ^Fsea it has its ^Gsong that it's ^Fsing^Cing it's a ^Fsad and lonely ^Ctune in the ^Gblue and it ^Fcalls to drifting ^Csailors like me and ^Gyou

but I ^Fcannot under^Gstand why I'm ^Flonging for the^G land

I miss the ^Fsound of the breeze through the leaves of the sycamore^{C F}wading in the waves to my knees on a sandy sh^Core the ^Fbirds and the bees and your panties on the bathroom flo^Cor well I miss you mor^Ge I miss you more ^Fmaj7

The sea ^Fcalls to me ^Gagain like it's ^Fscrea^Cming ^Fhome is in the ^Cwater in the ^Gstars In the ^Fchasm of the ^Gdeep they're ^Ffeed^Cing on the ^Fchanging aching ^Ccavern of my ^Gheart though its ^Fher that is ^Ctearing us ^Gapart I be^Fgin to under^Gstand why I'm ^Flonging for the ^Gland

I miss the ^Fsound of the breeze through the leaves of the sycamore^{C F}wading in the waves to my knees on a sandy sh^Core the ^Fbirds and the bees and your panties on the bathroom flo^Cor well I miss you mor^Ge I miss you more ^Fmaj7