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