...FUCK ME PUMPS... by Amy Winehouse
-------------------.................

*from 'Frank' (2004)*


[Verse]

         
When you walk 

           
in the bar, an

            
d you dressed 

       
like a star,
             
 Rockin' your 

   
F me pumps.
         
And the men no

           
tice you, with

            
 your Gucci ba

  
g crew,
             
Can't tell who

            
 he's lookin' 


to.
         
'Cos you all l

           
ook the same; 

            
every-one know

       
s your name,
             
And that's you

            
 whole claim t

  
o fame.
         
Ne-ver miss a 

         
night, 'cuz yo

            
ur dream in li


fe,
             
Is to be a foo

        
t-ballers wife

.


[Chorus]

              
You don't like

            
 players, that

            
's what you sa

y-a,
             
But you really

              
 wouldn't mind

           
 a million-air

e.
              
You don't like

            
 ballers, they

              
 don't do noth

    
ing for ya,
             
But you'd love

             
 a rich man, s

ix feet two or

 taller.


[Verse]

         
You're more th

           
an a fan, look

         
-in' for a man

,
             
But you end up

            
 with one-nigh

  
t-stands.
         
He could be yo

           
ur whole life,

            
 if you got pa

       
st one night,
             
But that part 

         
never goes rig

ht.
         
In the morning

           
 you're vexed,

            
 he's onto the

 
 next,
             
And you didn't

           
 even get no t

aste.
         
Don't be too u

           
p-set, if they

          
 call you a sk


ank,
              
'Cos like the 

           
news; every-da

          
y you get pres

sed.


[Chorus]

              
You don't like

            
 players, that

            
's what you sa

y-a,
             
But you really

              
 wouldn't mind

           
 a million-air

e.
              
You don't like

            
 ballers, they

              
 don't do noth

    
ing for ya,
             
But you'd love

             
 a rich man, s

ix feet two or

 taller.


[Verse]

         
You can't sit 

           
down right, 'c

            
os you jeans a

       
re too tight,
             
And your lucky

           
 it's ladies n

ight.
          
With your big 

          
empty purse, e

            
very week it g

    
ets worse,
             
At least your 

            
breasts cost m

         
ore than hers.
         
So you did Mia

           
-mi, 'cos you 

            
got there for 


free,
             
But somehow, y

            
ou missed the 


plane.
         
You did too mu

         
ch E;  met som

    
ebo-dy,
             
And spent the 

            
night getting 


caned.


[Chorus]

            
Without girls 

              
like you, ther

          
e'd be no fun;
             
We'd go to the

              
 club, and not

         
 see any-one.
            
Without girls 

              
like you, ther

             
e's no night-l

ife,
             
All those men 

              
just go home t

        
o their wives.


[Verse]

         
Don't be mad a

           
t me, 'cos you

            
're pushing th

   
ir-ty,
             
And your old t

            
ricks no longe

  
r work.
              
You should hav

         
e known from t

           
he job, that y

            
ou always get 


dumped;
             
So dust off yo

         
ur fuck me pum

ps.


CHORD DIAGRAMS:
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Tabbed by Joel from cLuMsY, Bristol, England, 2007 (clumsyband@hotmail.com)