Point It At Gran

Am                         F
Alone and pointless by her mouldering self
    C                       Dm
She stares at the tin of sardines on the shelf
     Am                 E
By a paraffin lamp in a dingy brown room
     Am       E             Am
Gran sits and broods in the thickening gloom
       Dm                           Am
It's a gloom that congeals; it's so greasy and thick
          E                   Am
You could cut into strips and roast on a stick
    Dm                                Am
And hand round to friends but there's nobody there
     Am           E
Just Gran, on her own, in a miserable chair
E
So don't point it at me
            Am
Point it at Gran
                       F
She needs it more than I do
                       C
And more than Princess Anne
                            Dm
When Princess Anne's eighty-two
                                 Am
And living in a one room flat in Hackney
                E
Maybe she could do with a bit as well


E
Don't point it at me
                      Am
Don't point it at yourself
                 F
Just point it at Gran
                        C
And the sardines on the shelf
                  Dm
Don't point it at me
                    Am
I've had more than enough
                 E
Just point it at Gran

She could do with plenty of stuff
E
Don't point it at me
            Am
Point it at Gran
                    F
Well, it could be a firehose
                 C
Or it could be a flan
                    Dm
Now some people are happy
                    Am
And some people are bored
                    E
And some people are left

And completely ignored
   F                    Am       E
So why should your life end on a dismal note?