Wasted youth
Wasted youth
I remember everything!
I remember everything little thing, as if it happened yesterday
I was barely seventeen, and I once killed a boy with a fender guitar
I don’t remember if it was a telecaster or a stratocaster
But I do remember that it had a heart of chrome, and a voice like a horny angel
I don’t remember if it was a telecaster or a stratocaster
But I do remember that it wasn’t at all easy
It required the perfect combanation of the right power chords
And the percise angel from which to strike!
The guitar bled for about a week afterwords
And the blood was zoot, dark and rich, like wild berrys
The blood of the guitar was chuck berry red
The guitar bled for about a week afterwords
But it rung out beautifly
And I was able to play notes that I had never even heard before
So I took my guitar
And I smashed it aganist the wall
I smashed it aganist the floor
I smashed it aganist the body of a varisty cheerleader
Smashed it aganist the hood of a car
Smasned it aganist a 1981 harley-davaidson
The harley howled in pain
The guitar howled in heat
And I ran up the stairs to my parents bedroom
Mommy and daddy were sleeping in the moonlight
Slowly I opened the door
Creeping in the shadows right up to the foot of their bed
I raised the guitar high above my head
And just as I was about to bring the guitar crashing down upon the center of the bed
My father woke up, screaming stop!
Wait a minute. stop it boy. what do you think your doing?
That’s no way to treat an expensive musical instrument
And I said, God damn it daddy,
You know I love you, but you’ve got a hell of a lot to learn about rock n’ roll