Oh I got me a guitar and I thought I could play it in a couple of month but lord,
After nearly three years and many nights of anguish, I can only play a two finger chord.

In the first year of practice I was banished to the garden and my only companion was the lark,
but the neighbours complained and raised a petition, so I had to go and practice in the park.

I thought I had cracked it as I sat on the park bench and I had my practice in peace,
But it wasn’t long before my talent was discovered I got picked up by the police.

For creating a disturbance I was charged and brought to justice and the judge gave a sympathetic ear,
He said “let me hear you playing son, before I pass my sentence”, when he did he said “at least five years”.

In the jail I still practiced so they took my guitar from me and the inmates all danced with glee,
So I took up singing and the prisoners and the wardens conspired to set me free.

So all you budding pluckers, who’ve listened to my story, I hope you will all take heed,
Don’t let the bastards grind you down, just carry on a-plucking, you must all fulfil your needs.