Wasted Youth

Wasted youth! Wasted youth! [spoken]: 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 stradacaster But I do remember that it had a heart of chrome and a voice like a hornic 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 sough 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 center 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"