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