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