Branice [braˈnit͡sɛ] (German: Branitz) is a village located in the Opole Voivodeship (southern Poland), near the border with the Czech Republic. It belongs to Głubczyce County and is the seat of Gmina Branice. In 2006 it was inhabited by 2,300 people. It lies approximately 17 kilometres (11 mi) south of Głubczyce and 69 km (43 mi) south of the regional capital Opole.
Coordinates: 50°3′5″N 17°47′41″E / 50.05139°N 17.79472°E / 50.05139; 17.79472
Branice is a village and municipality (obec) in Písek District in the South Bohemian Region of the Czech Republic.
The municipality covers an area of 5.05 square kilometres (1.95 sq mi), and has a population of 308 (as at 2005).
Branice lies approximately 19 kilometres (12 mi) north-east of Písek, 49 km (30 mi) north of České Budějovice, and 77 km (48 mi) south of Prague.
INTRO:
Dm-A7-Dm (ending:Dm-Dm7-Dm6-Bbmaj7-A-A7-Dm)
Okay 1 2 3 2 2
Dm Baby don't you drive around with A7 Dr. Bernice.
She's not a lady doctor at Dm all.
She's got hands like a man.
With A7 hair on the back.
She'll crush you with her em-Dm-brace.
Though the F wind may C whisper and F moan some-A-times
We Dm all need a Gm kind place A7 to Dm live.
Though the F wind may C whisper and F howl at your A door
We Dm all need the Gm comfort A7 of Dm friends.
Baby don't you drive around with Dr. Bernice.
That ain't a real cadillac.
It's a delta 88 spray painted black
with fake leather seats from Warren's
Though the wind may whisper and moan sometimes
On a hot desert night it is still.
Though the world may whisper and howl at your door
You're not obliged to let them all in.
Okay Johnny.
Dm-A7-Dm
Dm-A7-Dm
F-C-F-A-Dm-Gm-A7-Dm
F-C-F-A-Dm-Gm-A7-Dm
Baby don't you drive ride in that faux cadillac
If you must please ride in the back.
If you sing while you ride you'll be a siren tonight.
Spare this poor sailor's life from the rocks.
Though the wind may whisper a melody now.
We can't find a tune of our own.
Though the world may whisper and blow in your face
and tangle the hair on your head.
On a hot desert night we can drive down the road
And the stars will spell out your name.
On a hot desert night with the windows down wide.
The sirens will sing me their song.
And the ghosts of the sailors who died on the rocks
Feel not a twitch of regret.
Though the wind may tangle the hair on your head.
You sing like a siren to me.
On a hot desert night, the caravan stops
At the oasis next to your heart.
The soundtrack is played by some aged British queen
On BBC Radio One.
Though the wind my whisper and epic sometime
the cast must include Karen Black.
Though the symphony strings shifts with the sand.
You sing like a siren to me.
You Gm sing like a A7 siren to Dm me