C                  Am           F              C
The pilots playing poker in the cockpit of the plane,
Am             F                 Dm
the casualties arriving like the dropping of the rain.
C                 Am             F             G
And a mountain of machinery will fall before a man,
C                F                   G       C
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land

C                   Am          F                 C
It's written in the ashes of the village towns we burn,
Am                  F             Dm
it's written in the empty beds of fathers unreturned.
C                        Am              F          G
And the chocolate in the children’s eyes will never understand,
C           F           G             C
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land.

Am      
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,
G         
the morning has arrived, you must be gone.
F                                   G
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,
C                             Bb                  - C
like old whores following tired armies.

C                Am                  F                C
Train them well, the men who will be fighting by your side,
Am               F                    Dm
and never turn your back, if the battle turns the tide,
C                    Am            F           G
for the colours of a civil war are louder than commands,
C                F                   G       C
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land.

C                  Am         F                   C
Blow them from the forest and burn them from your sight,
Am                                 F                           Dm
tie their hands behind their backs, and question through the night.


C            Am                                 F                   G
But when the firing squad is ready, they'll be spitting where they stand,
C      F           G              C
at the white boots marching in a yellow land.

Am      
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,
G         
the morning has arrived, you must be gone.
F                                   G
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,
C                             Bb                  - C
like old whores following tired armies.

C                 Am               F              C
The comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the stage,
Am                               F              Dm
raw recruits are lining up like coffins in a cage.
C         Am                        F              G
Oh, we're fighting in a war we lost before the war began,
C               F                   G       C
we're the white boots marching in a yellow land.

Am      
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,
G         
the morning has arrived you must be gone.
F                                   G
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,
C        Bb                  - C
like old whores following tired armies.