Capo: 3 


Intro: Bm  G  D  A  (twice) 


G                                A            Bm      A 
Five-hundred channels and there ain't much on tonight 
   G                     A                          Bm A 
But reality shows about some folk's so-called lives 
 G                            A 
A pretty girl cries 'cause she don't get a rose 
    D         D/C#    A/B      A       G 
But she'll find love next year on her own show 
                  A 
And they call that real 



[Refrão]

Bm        G             D           A 
Real is a hand you hold fifty-seven years 
Bm        G            D              A 
Real is a band of gold tremblin' with fear 
         G 
It's the first long tear down an old man's face, 
A 
 watchin' his angel slippin' away 
   G                                  A 
His heart's so broke, it's never gonna heal 
           Bm     G   D   A 
I call that real 



G                               A            Bm      A 
Where I live, housewives don't act like that 
G                    A                          Bm A 
And the survivors are farmers in John Deere hats 
G                            A 
Our amazin' race is beatin' the check 
D           D/C#      A/B     A       G 
Prayin' that the bank ain't ran it through yet 



[Refrão]

Bm        G             D           A 
Real, like too much rain fallin' from the sky 
Bm        G             D           A 
Real, like the drought that came around here last July 
	G 
It's the damn boll weevils and the market and the weeds, 
        A 
the prayer they're sayin' when they plant the seeds 
	G				A 
And the chance they take to bring us our next meal 
           Bm      G    D     A 
I call that real 



Bm           G                     D            A 
Real, like a job you lose 'cause it moves to Mexico 
Bm     G                   D                A 
Like a mama and a baby with no safe place to go 
Bm     G                        D                  A 
Like a little dream house with a big old foreclosed sign 
Bm     G                        D                 A 
Like a flag-draped coffin and a twenty-one gun goodbye 
           Bm    G   D   A 
I call that real 
                Bm     G   D   A 
Man, I call that real 
               Bm     G   D   A 
Oh, I call that real 
Bm   G   D   A   Bm   G   D   A  Bm   G   D  A   Bm