| C | F |
Well I'm | off down the road every | morning bout eight |
| C | C7 |
Going | down to my job, and it's a | job that I hate |
| F | Fm | C | A7 |
Hacking, | cutting, gutting mutton | gut on a | contract | basis |
| D7 | G7 |
I | climb into my overalls and | take my place as |
| C | F |
The | boss comes along, he | tells me that |
| C | C7 |
I've got to | strip and clip a stomach every | second flat |
| F | Fm | C | A7 |
So I | bust a gut | just to get the | job all | done |
| D7 | G7 | C |
Cleaning | hacking cutting mutton gut until the | cows come | home, so… |
| F |
| Sling em here, sling em there |
| C | C7 |
Those | guts keep a-coming in from | everywhere |
| F | Fm | C | A7 |
I'm | up to my | elbows in this | dark green | ooze |
| D7 | G7 | C | F C G |
I've got | the slashing cutting | bust-a-gut | ting | Gutboard Blues |
Now down through the chute with a slosh and a slop | |
Those sheep guts drop and never seem to stop | |
So I grab myself a stomach, I slit it wide | |
Then I trim it and I scrape it till it's clean inside | |
Then I turn on the hose and let the water run | |
Toss it on the pile, and that's another one done | |
The pace is hot, I stop a spot and mop my brow | |
And my face has all been covered up with grass by now, so… | |
| F |
| Sling em here, sling em there |
| C | C7 |
Those | guts keep a-coming in from | everywhere |
I've gotta have the money, and a beggar can't choose | |
I've got the sloshing slopping never-stopping Gutboard Blues | |
I got hydrochloric acid eating into my head | |
My hair's turning green and I smell like I'm dead | |
There's fellas all around me sloshing juice on my knees | |
And the temperature's a-hitting bout a hundred degrees | |
I've had a gutsfull of guts, I'm telling you true | |
I don't think I could stomach one more ewe | |
It's a way of making money and a living, but… | |
Sheep… I hate your guts, so… | |
| F |
| Sling em here, sling em there |
| C | C7 |
Those | guts keep a-coming in from | everywhere |
How else can I afford to live the life that I choose | |
Without those acid-burning, stomach-churning, money-earning Gutboard Blues | |
Created 2017 Jun 04 16:34
This is the author's own work and represents their interpretation of the song.
You may only use this for private study, scholarship, or research.