Used to have a red guitar
Until I smashed it one drunk night
I smashed it in the classic form
As Peter Townsend might
I threw it in the fireplace
I left it there a while
Kate, she started crying
When she saw my sorry smile

Oh the red guitar was made of wood
It could not take the heat
The red guitar, it caught on fire
The damage was complete
It burned until all that was left
Were six pegs and six strings
Kate, she said, "You are a fool
You done a foolish thing"

Well I placed the remains in the case
And I put the case away
Went back to New York City
For a new guitar the next day
I bought myself a blond guitar
I had it for three days
Some junkie stole my blond guitar
God works in wondrous ways