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 combination of the right power chords
And the precise angel 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 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 parent’s 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 centre of the bed
My father woke up, screaming stop!
Wait a minute. Stop it boy. What do you think your doing?
That is 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!