Guitar

Guitar
You loose wooden woman,
Flaunt your curves,
So English and so pear shaped.
You sit your fat arse upon any man's lap,
If they promise to play with you.
Let them lay their hands upon you,
And run their fingers up and down your neck.
They care not for your machine head,
Just your promises of fame.
But who are you to promise?
Without the fingering of a client,
Your large black hole lies silent.
And when you are discarded alone in the corner,
It is in my arms they'll lie.