Po Box 500

G Em D C Bm F Am

     G                                                Em
DEAR ROBERT, I heard you was back in the slammer, you should havn known better
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than to try it a second time, in the state of Alabama. I'm gonna miss your
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midnight shows, and miss your early mornin' tokes, your big buddha face smilin'
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out across the ocean. You were a good thief, you taught me what to steal, I
Em                G            C                  G      C
guess you know by now how much I took from you for real. I'll give it all back
         G                              Em                        D
to you next parole for sure, and we can visit crazy Mary up in Camarillo.


G                                                   Em
DEAR ROBERT, I heard you was back under the hammer, should have known better
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than to keep the badge you found from the police on the beach last summer,
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but while you're freshly shaved and down in weight we'll take that Cevrolet and
                          F       Dm
blaze all the way down to Mexico, we'll find that long lost valley we talked
Am               G
about so much, we'll disappear in smoke, then we'll emerge from the desert
                     F  C    G                             F           C
dust, and enter that golden city, with restaurants, running water, and women oh
   D
so pretty.

Solo chords (my version)

G|G|G|G|Em|Em|G|C D C|G|G|C|C|D|Em D|C|Bm|C|D|D|

G                                                     Em
DEAR ROBERT, when they took you last time I remember, the police light show was
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bright like the 4th. of July, right in the middle of December, as I strolled by
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your place, unnoticed in the crowd, who stood by in the red lights as they took
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you down. As you got into the police car, chrome bracelets on your wrist, wich
G                                                              F C
everybody knows can be painful with just a twist, but you just smiled at
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everybody, the police knew for sure this was not their territory.

     G                                                    Em
P.S. Robert I found the supermarket bag you left me, I'll smoke a little every
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day, and as the smoke clears away, you come right back into my memory, yea,