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