Her name is Cherry. We've just But already she knows me better than you. She understands me, after 18 years, But still don't see me like you ought to do. Maybe we could talk bout things if You made of wood and strings. While I love her every sound, I don't know how to turn down, And you're so thick my pages are thin, So I got me a new best friend With a pick-up that puts to shame, And Cherry is her name. And when I'm lonely Cherry's there she plays along while I sing out my blues I could be crying, you don't care You won't call me back, you're stubborn as mule. May-be we could talk bout things if You was made wood and strings. You might think I've Gone too far I'm talking bout My new guitar.