The Story Is Written Acordes

	  
     D                E 
This is about Frenchy Dubois, 
          A              D 
Who was a growing, lanky boy 
                            E 
On a Christmas tree farm in Illinois 
              A                  D 
The hero in a novel I wrote with joy-(D-7) 

    G                  D 
The Story is about his plight, 
      E                                 A 
Being raised by a mean Uncle and looney Aunt 
      D                           A 
Bruno and Aunt Viney, were always right 
                               D      D7 
Frenchy stayed away from their rant.- 

   G                        D 
He took cover in his secret cave, 
       E                              A 
Hidden by the weeds and brush on Salt Creek 
    D                    A 
Put away in a rock-lined safe, 
                                D 
His journal, he wrote in, every week 

                E 
So the story is written, 
           A         D 
It is in a box on my shelf 
                      E 
Covered with slips of rejection 
                          A       D       D7 
Waiting to be discovered, void of myself-
 

        G                                  D 
Stories about how his kin homesteaded this place 
         E                       A 
Clearing the timber to make crop land 
          D                                   A 
Now, full circle, his dad, replaced corn with trees 
                                  D    D7 
Frenchy was growing up, lending a hand 

   G                                   D 
In a few short years, and he became of age, 
    E                                   A 
The tree farm would be his per his dads will 
          D                                 A 
But until then, Bruno and Viney wrote every page 
                                     D 
And Frenchy could only dream of this thrill. 

                E 
So the story is written, 
           A         D 
It is in a box on my shelf 
                      E 
Covered with slips of rejection 
                          A       D 
Waiting to be discovered, void of myself.