Wasted Youth 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 afterwords And the blood was zoot, dark and rich, like wild berry's The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry red The guitar bled for about a week afterwords 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 your doing?" "That's 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"