Bob Dylan's Grandma

Back in the sixth grade
I heard 'Jimi Plays Monterey'
Boy, did I melt that tape
And let that cassette self-immolate
Pentatonic killing floor
Bob Dylan’s grandma holding down the twos and fours
Monolithic crates of vacuum tubes
From which every note rang true
It had been my dream to race F1 or fly F-16s
I’ve got the next best thing
To cut my teeth on these six strings
I’ll get a Stratocaster
And practice 'til my fingers bleed
The metronome ticks faster
Counting down from 9 to 3
Until my arthritic hands
Can’t paint the exit-in
If I don’t see the end…
If I don’t see the end
Throw my guitars into the Cumberland
Into the Cumberland
If I don’t see the end
Throw my guitars into the Cumberland