Wasted Youth

I remember everything!
I remember every little thing as if it only 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 combination of the right power chords
And the precise angle from which to strike!
The guitar bled for about a week afterwards
And the blood was zoot, dark and rich, like wild berries
The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry red
The guitar bled for about a week afterwards
But it rung out beautifully
And I was able to play notes that I had never even heard before
So I took my guitar
And I smashed it against the wall
I smashed it against the floor
I smashed it againt the body of a varsity cheerleader
Smashed it against the hood of a car
Smashed it against a 1981 Harley-Davidson
The Harley howled in pain
The guitar howled in heat
And I ran upstairs to my parents bedroom
Mummy and Daddy were sleeping quietly in the moonlight
Slowly I opened the door
Creeping into 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 you’re 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!»