2 acessos
A C D E G Gmaj9 e]--0----0----2----0----3----3--| B]--2----1----3----0----0----0--| G]--2----0----2----1----0----0--| D]--2----2----0----2----0----0--| A]--0----3---------2----2----0--| E]-----------------0----3----2--| INTRO: B - G (x4) VERSE 1: B G B G B G B G Yooouuuu watch me on your T.V. B G B G B G B G Saaaying that my job is easy B G B G B G B G Saaaying I am not athletic B G B G B G B G Gmaj9 Yooouuuu think my sport's pathetic E B G But you can't judge me 'till you walked a mile in my bowling shoes INTERLUDE: B - G (x3) VERSE 2: B G B G B G B G Sooooooo I don't get all the ladies B G B G B G B G Aaaannnd my clothes are from the '80s B G B G B G B G Gmaj9 I'mmmmmm known throughout the vallies E As the prophet of the alleys CHORUS 1: A E C A E C A And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!" E C G D A I'm Almighty Malachi, the Bowling God E C A E C A The smell of resin gets my high, kiss those fucking pins goodbye! E C G D B G I'm Almighty Malachi, the Bowling, the Bowling... God INTERLUDE: B - G (x3) VERSE 3: B G B G B G B G Goooooot a ball that's smooth and all black B G B G B G B G I keeeeeep it in my lucky ball-sack B G B G B G B G Gmaj9 I geeeeeet a feeling in my soul E As I finger every hole... CHORUS 2: A E C A E C A And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!" E C G D A I'm Almighty Malachi, the Bowling God E C A E C A The smell of resin gets my high, kiss those fucking pins goodbye! E C G D I'm Almighty Malachi, the Bowling, the Bowling... BRIDGE: B G B G Not a single man will try to beat Almighty Malachi B G B G All who challenge me are slain - "Come on, fuckers, pick a lane!" B G B G Marshall Holman, Gary Dickens; get in line for your ass kickins' B G B G John Petraglia, Norm Duke; you're so lame it makes me puke B G B G Who among the pro-bowl sector dares to don his wrist protector? B G B G Not that pussy, Nelson Burton; tells me that his wrist is hurtin' B G B G "Hey, Mark Roth and Earl 'The Pearl', are you scared to give the ball a hurl?" B G B G How about 'Dicky' Weber and his son, Pete? I'll turn the motherfuckers to cream of wheat! CHORUS 3: A E C A E C A And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!" E C G D A I'm Almighty Malachi, the Bowling God E C A E C A The smell of resin gets my high, kiss those fucking pins goodbye! E C G D I'm Almighty Malachi, the Bowling, the Bowling... A E C A E C A E C G D A The Bowling Gooooooooooooooood! Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaah! The Bowling... God