Wasted Youth

Wasted youth, wasted youth

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 horny angel

I don't remember if it was a telecaster or a stradacaster

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

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 center of the bed

My father woke up, screaming, "Stop

Wait a minute, stop it boy

What do you think you're doin'?

That's no way to treat an expensive musical instrument"

And I said, "God dammit Daddy

You know I love you

But you got a hell of a lot to learn about Rock 'n Roll"