Always messing about, groaning at you
Moaning, wonât let you practise
So I bought meself a guitar about a year ago
The man said I could learn it in a week or so
Gave me a little book, pick or two
Said âhere yâare mate, itâs up to youâ
Dirty rotter, cost me ten nicker, all the loot I had
Good guitar, though â call it a pluckit
Anyway, spent me dough
And I couldnât let it all go to waste, you know
So I took the book, guitar, and all
And I went back home where the trees are tall
Down in Woodford - good place to be if youâve got a guitar
Pretty rotten if you ainât
Well, for weeks and weeks I worked hard
And I tried to learn a few main chords
Book says theyâre easy as abc
Cor, my fingers is killing me
Got sore on the ends.
Couldnât hold the strings down
Wanted to pack up, cor, I felt rough
Anyway, kept on playing with all me might
I could see mumâs hair was turning white
And her face was lined with discontent
She said her patience was pretty near spent
She was nervous, ears ringing, wanted to scream
You know, couldnât get no relief
So sister, anyway, she took it worst of all
âCause she got married the following fall
She said âfor loveâ but I got me doubts
I think the guitar chased her out
Sheâs a game girl, though
Just couldnât take it, you know
Limit to everything
Dad, he took it a different way
He said, you can turn your mumâs hair grey
Drive your sister away from home
But you or me boyâs gonna start to roam
And I ainât going - never intend to
You figure it out â so I did, fast, you know
Anyway, next day had me clothes all packed
And I slung me guitar across me back
Caught meself a great long train
Searched the world for me share of fame
Ainât found none - just hardships, messing about
Skiffle, Tommy Steele
