Taylor
Jack Johnson
| C | G | Am | F | |
| They say Taylor was a good girl |
| Never one to be late |
| Complain, express |
| Ideas in her brain |
| Working on the night shift |
| Passing out the tickets |
| You're gonna have to pay her |
| If you wanna park here |
| Well, mommy's little dancer |
| Has quite a little secret |
| Working on the streets now |
| Never gonna keep it |
| It's quite an imposition |
| And now she's only wishin' |
| That she would have listened |
| To the words they said |
| Poor Taylor |
| She just wanders around |
| Unaffected by |
| The winter winds, yeah |
| And she'll pretend that |
| Well she's somewhere else |
| So far and clear |
| About two thousand miles |
| From here |
| Well, Peter Patrick pitter-patters on the window |
| The sunny silhouette won't let him in |
| Poor old Pete's got nothing, cause he's been falling |
| Somehow, Sonny knows just where he's been |
| He thinks that singing on Sunday is gonna save his soul |
| Now that Saturday's gone |
| Sometimes he thinks, that he's on his way |
| But I can see, that his brake lights are on |
| He just wanders around |
| Unaffected by |
| The winter winds, yeah |
| And he'll pretend that |
| Well he's somewhere else |
| So far and clear |
| About two thousand miles |
| From here |
| Such a tough enchilada |
| Filled up with nada |
| Giving what she gotta |
| Give to get a dollar bill |
| Used to be a limber chicken |
| Times have been a tickin' |
| Now she's finger lickin' |
| To the man |
| With the money in his pocket |
| Flying in his rocket |
| Only stopping by |
| On his way to a better |
| C | D | F | G | |
| world | If | Taylor finds a better |
| C | D | F | G | C | |
| world | Then Taylor's gonna run away |