| If you wanna get in trouble let me tell you how to do it
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| Get yourself a guitar and then you’re right into it
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| You play all day and you play all night
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| People say you’ll never learn to play the thing right
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| Always messing about, groaning at you
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| Moaning, won’t let you practise
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| So I bought meself a guitar about a year ago
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| The man said I could learn it in a week or so
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| Gave me a little book, pick or two
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| Said, «Here y’are mate, it’s up to you»
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| Dirty rotter, cost me ten nicker, all the loot I had
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| Good guitar, though, called it a pluckit
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| Anyway, spent me dough
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| And I couldn’t let it all go to waste, you know
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| So I took the book, guitar and all
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| And I went back home where the trees are tall
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| Down in Woodford, good place to be if you’ve got a guitar
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| Pretty rotten if you ain’t
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| Well, for weeks and weeks I worked hard
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| And I tried to learn a few main chords
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| The book says they’re easy as ABC
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| Cor, my fingers is killing me, got sore on the ends
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| Couldn’t hold the strings down
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| Wanted to pack up, cor, I felt rough
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| Anyway, kept on playing with all me might
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| I could see Mum’s hair was turning white
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| And her face was lined with discontent
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| She said her patience was pretty near spent
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| She was nervous, ears ringing, wanted to scream
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| You know, couldn’t get no relief
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| So sister, anyway, she took it worst of all
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| 'Cause she got married the following fall
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| She said «For love» but I got me doubts
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| I think the guitar chased her out
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| She’s a game girl, though
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| Just couldn’t take it, you know, limit to everything
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| Dad, he took it a different way
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| He said, you can turn your Mum’s hair grey
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| Drive your sister away from home
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| But you or me boy’s gonna start to roam
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| And I ain’t going, never intend to
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| You figure it out, so I did, fast, you know
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| Anyway, next day had me clothes all packed
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| And I slung me guitar across me back
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| Caught meself a great long train
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| Searched the world for me share of fame
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| Ain’t found none, just hardships, messing about
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| Skiffle, Tommy Steele |