Words and Music by Catesby Jones
Prospect Hill Music   BMI

My Guitar

She’s weathered and cracked from temperature changes
But she’s still a beauty to me
Her fingerboard’s worn in the first three positions
She buzzes a bit in high E
When we play a tune all the cowboys cry
And the angels dance upon the stars
My guitar, my guitar 

She’s scratched on the back but big shiny buckles
It hasn’t affected her song
She’s burned on the head stock from so many Camels
And playing the last call too long
Always in tune with a neck like an arrow
And gears that seem to know where they are
My guitar, my guitar 

BRIDGE;

She’s mother of pearl, maple and ebony
Tight grain spruce on the top
She carries the scars where strangers have held her
And picked just a little too hot
With a good coat of polish in a dark, smoky dance hall
You’d never know she’s been in a bar
My guitar, my guitar 

Everyone longs for a loving companion
Sharing the laughs and the blues
I’ve lost in the past but it feels like forever
Whenever I’m holding you
And I can take comfort ‘cause I’ve got a partner
If no one else is going that far
My guitar, my guitar 

TAG:

I’ve seen more expensive. I’ve even been tempted
But nothing plays like my guitar

Words and Music by Catesby Jones
Prospect Hill Music   BMI
www.catesbyjones.com