Talking Guitar Blues Lyrics - Singles - Lonnie Donegan

If you wanna get in trouble let me tell you how to do it 

Get yourself a guitar and then you're right into it 

You play all day and you play all night 

People say you'll never learn to play the thing right 

Always messing about, groaning at you 

Moaning, won't let you practice 

So I bought myself 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, "Here why'are mate, it's up to you" 

Dirty rotter, cost me ten nicker, all the loot I had 

Good guitar, though, called it a pluck it 

Anyway, spent me dough 

And I couldn't 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 you've got a guitar 

Pretty rotten if you ain't 

Well, for weeks and weeks I worked hard 

And I tried to learn a few main chords 

The book says they're easy as ABC 

Cor, my fingers is killing me, got sore on the ends 

Couldn't hold the strings down 

Wanted to pack up, cor, I felt rough 

Anyway, kept on playing with all me might 

I could see Mum's 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, couldn't get no relief 

So sister, anyway, she took it worst of all 

'Cause she got married the following fall 

She said "For love" but I got me doubts 

I think the guitar chased her out 

She's a game girl, though 

Just couldn't take it, you know, limit to everything 

Dad, he took it a different way 

He said, you can turn your Mum's hair gray 

Drive your sister away from home 

But you or me boy's gonna start to roam 

And I ain't going, never intend to 

You figure it out, so I did, fast, you know 

Anyway, next day had me clothes all packed 

And I slung me guitar across me back 

Caught myself a great long train 

Searched the world for me share of fame 

Ain't found none, just hardships, messing about 

Skiffle, Tommy Steele