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"