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Em B7 She comes from Kansas City, in the middle of the land. Em Am She was the queen of the game. D G C But love never came with a man, with a man. Am D Now all they know is her name. G D She's the Kansas City Bomber, let her roll, let her roll. C B7 Let her fly through the fury of the race. G D The cry of the crowd is the keeper of her soul - C B7 You can see it by the rage upon her face.
The blast of the whistle, the bomber takes the floor.
She turns, she spins on the rail.
But she'll be the first one to score, watch her score,
And the board light up as the sails.
She's the Kansas City Bomber, let her roll, let her roll.
Let her fly through the fury of the race.
The cry of the crowd is the keeper of her soul -
You can see it by the rage upon her face, 'pon her face.
She's gonna leave tomorrow, she's never coming back,
But tomorrow is only a day.
Now she is trapped on the track, on the track.
And God help the lady in her way.
She's the Kansas City Bomber, let her roll, let her roll.
Let her fly through the fury of the race, of the race.
The cry of the crowd is the keeper of her soul -
You can see it by the rage upon her face, 'pon her face.
(Words and music by Phil Ochs, 1972)
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