Where should I go and just how far
When I am playing on a great guitar?
Up and down its very illusive neck
Before I soon become a total wreck.
Each string I'm sure is supposed to sound
Like no one else should try to be around
Along with me and my magnificent melody
Making it seem like I had a lobotomy.
With my aggressive guitar and brain wave
I will more than likely land in my grave;
Of everyone thought that I was well ahead
But my music is unpopular and by now is dead.
Last licks I got in were short and not long
Making it surely sound like a soft folksong
We thought was sung by Mo, Curly and Larry
Who actually were Peter, Paul and Mary.