Merry Guitar Christmas and Hap-Peegoo Year!

[stxrus]

Very nice.

Our meager decorations this year. The pix of the tree and train have disappeared. I’ll have to reshoot tomorrow

 

[stepvan]

Everybody enjoy a mug of hot chocolate or eggnog while I read the annual Christmas poem dedicated to all my guitar freak friends.

A Guitar Christmas

T'was the night before Christmas...the guitars in their cases:
Two Strats, a Tele, and Jazz and P-basses
The Twin Reverb's tubes were now cold to the touch
The floor littered with pedals, guitar cords and such
The Bassman's pilot lamp also was cool
It caught a glint of the moonlight and looked like a jewel
The Christmas tree sparkled with the light of the moon
It knew that Saint Nick would be stopping by soon

And I, in my bedroom, taking a snore,
Lay dreaming of Jaguars and Mustangs galore
There were Strats from the 50s, and real No-casters
And there I was, sitting in with the blues guitar masters
Mac Morganfield ("they call me Muddy") was there
He sang Good Lookin' Woman and Mud In Your Ear
Mr. Williams, who likes to be known as Big Joe
Got down with his nine-string on Baby, Please Don't Go

Roy Buchanan showed up, and ooh, Buddy Guy
They were loving their git-tars and making 'em cry
Stevie Ray stopped by 'cause he was in town,
Then Hendrix played Red House, and brought the house down
And then, a loud THUMP! and I jumped out of bed
Did I really hear that, or was it all in my head?
I paused... and then faintly: hoofbeats and jingles
"Good Lord," I thought, "Santa is up on the shingles!"

I got to my feet and I sneaked out the door
And peered through the darkness down to the first floor
There was somebody down there! And then I thought, "Criminy,
This stuff about Santa coming down through the chimney
Has got to be hogwash..." and that's when I spied
The boots, beard, and red suit. Saint Nick was inside!
He opened his bag and placed gifts 'neath the tree
Then turned to depart, but what did he see?

The Fender Twin Reverb, and tweed guitar case
He put down his bag with a smile on his face
He flipped a few switches and strapped on a Strat,
Then lit up a Camel, and took off his hat
The tubes heated up...but ol' Santa was hotter
Than July in Texas, or Steve Tyler's daughter
Now nobody smokes in my house, and that's that
But Saint Nick was SMOKIN' on the Camel and Strat!

He played Beck's Bolero and Blue Suede Shoes
He did Little Wing, White Room, and Hoodoo Man Blues
And when he was finished, he took off the Strat,
Switched off the amp, and put on his hat
He grabbed his bag, and faster than you can say, "Jiminy
Cricket," he disappeared straight up the chimney
Again I heard hoofbeats and jingles up there
And off they flew into the cool Christmas air

And I heard him exclaim as they drove out of sight,
"Merry Guitar Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

T'was the morning of Christmas, and I crawled out of bed
I ate a few aspirin for my poor aching head
And then I remembered ol' Santa's jam session
Nobody'd believe it, so there'd be no confession
I took out my strat, and laughed at my dream
Of Saint Nick, in my house, playing Hendrix and Cream
Am I losing my mind? Going crazy, or what?
Then I saw, on the headstock: a cigarette butt.

 

[stepvan]

Everybody enjoy a mug of hot chocolate or eggnog while I read the annual Christmas poem dedicated to all my guitar freak friends.

A Guitar Christmas

T'was the night before Christmas...the guitars in their cases:
Two Strats, a Tele, and Jazz and P-basses
The Twin Reverb's tubes were now cold to the touch
The floor littered with pedals, guitar cords and such
The Bassman's pilot lamp also was cool
It caught a glint of the moonlight and looked like a jewel
The Christmas tree sparkled with the light of the moon
It knew that Saint Nick would be stopping by soon

And I, in my bedroom, taking a snore,
Lay dreaming of Jaguars and Mustangs galore
There were Strats from the 50s, and real No-casters
And there I was, sitting in with the blues guitar masters
Mac Morganfield ("they call me Muddy") was there
He sang Good Lookin' Woman and Mud In Your Ear
Mr. Williams, who likes to be known as Big Joe
Got down with his nine-string on Baby, Please Don't Go

Roy Buchanan showed up, and ooh, Buddy Guy
They were loving their git-tars and making 'em cry
Stevie Ray stopped by 'cause he was in town,
Then Hendrix played Red House, and brought the house down
And then, a loud THUMP! and I jumped out of bed
Did I really hear that, or was it all in my head?
I paused... and then faintly: hoofbeats and jingles
"Good Lord," I thought, "Santa is up on the shingles!"

I got to my feet and I sneaked out the door
And peered through the darkness down to the first floor
There was somebody down there! And then I thought, "Criminy,
This stuff about Santa coming down through the chimney
Has got to be hogwash..." and that's when I spied
The boots, beard, and red suit. Saint Nick was inside!
He opened his bag and placed gifts 'neath the tree
Then turned to depart, but what did he see?

The Fender Twin Reverb, and tweed guitar case
He put down his bag with a smile on his face
He flipped a few switches and strapped on a Strat,
Then lit up a Camel, and took off his hat
The tubes heated up...but ol' Santa was hotter
Than July in Texas, or Steve Tyler's daughter
Now nobody smokes in my house, and that's that
But Saint Nick was SMOKIN' on the Camel and Strat!

He played Beck's Bolero and Blue Suede Shoes
He did Little Wing, White Room, and Hoodoo Man Blues
And when he was finished, he took off the Strat,
Switched off the amp, and put on his hat
He grabbed his bag, and faster than you can say, "Jiminy
Cricket," he disappeared straight up the chimney
Again I heard hoofbeats and jingles up there
And off they flew into the cool Christmas air

And I heard him exclaim as they drove out of sight,
"Merry Guitar Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

T'was the morning of Christmas, and I crawled out of bed
I ate a few aspirin for my poor aching head
And then I remembered ol' Santa's jam session
Nobody'd believe it, so there'd be no confession
I took out my strat, and laughed at my dream
Of Saint Nick, in my house, playing Hendrix and Cream
Am I losing my mind? Going crazy, or what?
Then I saw, on the headstock: a cigarette butt.

A little late but hope your holidays were merry and bright