Joined:
January 2004
Posts: 648
Location: Florida | This was posted over on the SG group (where they have aversion to Les Pauls). Thought you guys might like it too.
A Visit From Rockin' Santa "SG" Garcia
T’was the night before Christmas and all thru the house,
Not a creature was strumming, not even the mouse.
By the fireplace glow, I waxed my SG,
Content in my stocking there'd be Fralins for me.
The children were nestled all snug in their bunks,
While they dreamt of SGs, P-90s and punk.
Seeing my lovely in the mood for some play
I knew it was 'bout time to go hit the hay.
With my wife up the stairs in her Frederick's attire,
It meant toss another Les Paul on the fire!
When out in the yard, there 'rose such a noise
Like Clapton and King playing blues with the boys
Away to the window I flew like Jack Flash,
Stubbed my toe on the cat dish and made a huge splash.
I looked up in the sky and saw an odd sight,
A slant front Marshall cabinet and it was in flight!
The cab'net was hooked to an old plexi head.
"Holy Cow!”, I yelled out, “A Marshall sky sled!”
And piled on the Marshall was all manner of gear,
And a right fat old rocker: Looked like Jerry Garcia!
He landed the amp-sled on my roof with a bang,
And picked out some riffs with a crisp Tele twang.
Then grabbed his gig bag and got down from the stack,
And slid down my chimney, without getting things black.
He was plump and jolly and was all dressed in red
With a tie-dye T-shirt that said Grateful Dead.
His hair was bright silver and it fell to his knees
And his beard was all bushy like moss on a tree.
He didn't waste but a moment of time,
Filling stockings with gear, both great and sublime.
With pedals and stands and guitars galore,
It exceeded my dreams of the best music store.
He brought Rics and Fenders and Gibsons for all
And for the bon fire, a few more Les Pauls!
He had Jacksons and Parkers and even a Kent
He'd enough in that bag to fill up a tent!
Ovations and Taylors and even an Aria
He piled on the floor, t’was enough to scare ya!
Breedlove and Washburn and even a Martin
I knew his poor lumbar region was smartin!
Ibanez, Rich, Tokai and Chandler
And a Dean he'd gotten from a old pan handler.
Somehow it fit on the floor without cramming,
Enough for an army to join in the jamming!
In a minute or two (I didn't look at the clock),
Without a sound check, he was ready to rock!
Playing Knopfler, Pink Floyd and Eddy LaRue,
He'd bought out the warehouse in Kalamazoo!
He played Beck and Kreiger and Stevie and Page
I wished I could play like that at his age.
He had Tele's and Strats and a Custom SG,
And my eyes lit right up! The SG was for me!
So I asked the old rocker, "How'd you know my desire?"
He said, "Easy, my son, your Les Paul's in the fire!"
I laughed and accepted his presents galore
Till he said, "Gotta go! But not out the door!"
He ran to the hearth and looked up the flue
I had no idea of what next he would do.
Saying "I'd like to play more, but I really can't linger".
On the side of his nose he laid his fat finger
And squirmed up the chimney like a chubby red adder.
The fire was burning, but that didn't matter,
He got on the roof and I heard his decree
"That fire nearly scorched my best BVDs!"
The standby switch on the Marshall was flipped
Then tubes shone bright and it started to twitch
All controls dimed to give it some tone
The plexi half stack rose on its own!
"It's been a long time since I rock and rolled"
Played out through the cabinet, clear, loud and bold.
He turned the rig sharply and towards me he came
And to him I yelled "Hey what's your name?"
"I'm jazz and blues and gospel and soul,
I'm reggae and country and pure rock'n roll!"
And with that, he turned and resumed his flight
Saying "Merry Christmas to all, good rockin' tonite!" |
OT, but seasonal (poetry)