I remember everything!
I remember every little thing as if it happened only 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 afterward.
And the blood was so dark and rich, like wild berries,
The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry red.
The guitar bled for about a week afterward, 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 against 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 up the stairs to my parents' bedroom.
Mummy 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! Just what do you think you're doing?
That's no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!"
And I said: "God d*mn it Daddy!
You know I love you, but you got a hell of a lot to learn about rock 'n roll."
