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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 stradacaster
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 stratacaster

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 upto 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 ya think you're doin'?
That's no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!"

And I said: "God damn it daddy!
You know I love you, but you got a hell of a lot to learn about rock 'n roll"

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