The Sad Guitarist

This is the story of the sad guitarist

He was sitting in his room, becoming pissed

He never learned chords for the songs he would brew

Because he quit guitar right before Guitar 2

In the American Empire he was bound to roam

He had many a scar and many a poem

His poetry morphed into plain guitar licks

So he never showed that verse to his favorite chicks

His favorite of all was a shiksa named Lynn

Who would take his heartstrings out for a spin

And they’d return to his chest perspiring for air

But all of this time, Lynn didn’t care

On a night with a light, his brain turned to mush

And you just couldn’t say the same for his crush

He would sit there and wish that the night was still young

And pretend that young Lynn was lax with her tongue

Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh…

So that was the story of the sad guitarist

He was sitting in his room, becoming pissed

He never learned the chords for the songs he would brew

Because he quit the guitar right before Guitar 2.

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