I been fiddlin on this thing for one hundred twenty days
It seems like it just got nothin good to say
I strum and strum all day long
And nothing happens but noise
All I wanna do is play one song
Try to keep up with the boys
But no notes are coming out right
Its sure putting up a fight
I'll try something new
Press a little harder
But thats got my fingers feeling blue
And I'm no music martyr
So I'll take a ****
And see if the strings turn to smoke
And 'course they don't
But I'll keep playing
til' my fingies fall off
Or my calluses turn to leather
Cuz it can rain or pour
These strings just gotta soar
Don't really care if my songs a bore
At least my foots in the door.