Her is Cherry. We've just met, But already she knows me better than you. She understands me, after 18 But you still don't see 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, I don't know how to turn 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 And she plays along while I sing out my I could be crying, And you don't care You won't call me back, you're stubborn as a mule. May-be we could talk bout things if was made of wood strings. You might think I've Gone too far I'm talking bout My new guitar.