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Tom: E
E G#m A E
There's a painting of my grandfather, on my mothers side
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in the hallway of our homestaed, in a special place of pride
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with his bulldogs and kanakas, back in eighteen nighty three
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in a linen suit and a panama, they say he looked like me.
E G#m A E
and the story goes he came out, to make a brand new start
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in an effort to forget, a sad affair of the heart
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so with these romantic notions, to the colonies he came
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where he settled in the tropics and made his fortune growing cane.
E E
Well let the canefields burn, let the flames rise
E A E
let the politicians and the bankers in the city look up
E A E
in wonder at the glow at in the sky.
E
let the canefield burn, let me feel no pain
A E B E
when I drown my soul in whisky, and dance in the flames.
E G#m A E
There's a photo of my parents, taken in between the wars
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in London, Rome or Paris, I don't know for shure
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but it hangs there in the hallway and there's one for every year
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fortunes made, and fortunes paid, for champagne souveniers.
Chorus:....let the canefields burn....
C#m E
And they say they're gonna take this all away from me
C#m E
the cars the cane the homestead, all my family history
C#m E A
well tomorrow when the bankers come, to settle all their claims
E B E 9
let the auctioneer open...with a price for charred remains!
Chorus:....let the canefields burn....