Shit Shots Count

| C       | G       | C       | G       |
| F       | C       | G       | G       |

[Verse 1]
         C                          G
Put your cigarette out and get your hat back on
      C                     G
Don't mix up which is which
F                    C
  They don't pay you enough to work
                G
Well they don't pay me enough to bitch
C                             G
  Boss ain't as smart as he'd like to be
             C                          G
But he ain't nearly as dumb as you think
F                  C                       G
  He just wants evolution on budget with a schedule to keep

| C       | G       | C       | G       |
| F       | C       | G       | G       |

[Verse 2]
C                   G
Suburban four lanes moving like blood through an
C                    G
old man's dying heart
F                     C                      G
  Nothing but time to keep hope alive at the speed of a stream of tar
C                         G
 He bought in young and I have no doubt
                C                       G
he's gonna cash out with a winning deal
F                          C
  Trophy tail wives taking boner pill rides for the
G
price of a happy meal

[Chorus]
C                        G
Shit shots count and the table is tilted
     C                          G
Just pay the man who levels the floor
F                         C
Pride's what you charge a proud man for having
G
Shame is what you sell to a whore
C                         G
Meat’s just meat and it’s all born dying,
        C                       G
some is tender and some is tough.
F                  C
 Somebody's got to mop up the A1,
    G
somebody's got to mop up the blood

[Guitar solo over]
| D   Bm   | C   G   | Am       | Am       |
| C        | D   G   | F        | C        |

[Bridge]
D           Bm          C
High ground ain't high enough
            G            Am
To kill you quick if you fall
C      D         G           F                                  C
  Idealistically speaking it sounds like you ain't listening at all
D           Bm                     C          G
Friday night riches are all you're ever gonna need until the
Am
fight in you on Monday's gone
C                       G
One more drag tuck your hair in your hat
      F                                   C
Don't act so surprised try not to look so lost

| C       | G       | C       | G       |
| F       | C       | G       | G       |

[Chorus]
C                        G
Shit shots count and the table is tilted
     C                          G
Just pay the man who levels the floor
F                         C
Pride's what you charge a proud man for having
G
Shame is what you sell to a whore
C                         G
Meat’s just meat and it’s all born dying,
        C                       G
some is tender and some is tough.
F                  C
 Somebody's got to mop up the A1,
    G
somebody's got to mop up the blood

| C       | G       | C       | G       |
| F       | C       | G       | G       |
| C       | G       | C       | G       |
| F       | C       | G       | G       |
| C       | G       | C       | G       |
| F       | C       | G       | G       |