A Visit from Saint Seymour
It was the night before Xmas, two days from the gig.
My new band had told me “Your tone we don’t dig!”
My old Strat hummed like a tree full of bees.
My once sparkling Tele now sounded like cheese!
The gutted Les Paul was borderline junk.
My SG wasn’t worthy, even for punk…
“Maybe it’s time to give them a smash,
Run them all over and burn them to ash.
I’ll get all new ones, yeah, that’s what I’ll do!
I’ll charge ‘em and pay until 3002!”
Just as I got out my lighter and gas,
A man with a beard screamed “Stop, you jack*ss!”
The big guy approached and demanded I stop.
I thought to myself, “Please, don’t be a cop!”
He strummed on my Strat, then on my Tele.
He checked out my Paul, and laughed from his belly-
“These guitars are fine”, he said with a handful of wire.
“Your pickups are weak, THEY belong in the fire!”
He pulled out these boxes from his magical bag,
“Now, these have the mojo and won’t make you gag!”
He wired them up with a wink in a flash.
“You’ll sound like a master, like Jimi or Slash!
Or Eddie or Dimebag, Page, Blackmore or Beck.
Whomever you like, just don’t bounce your check.”
When I plugged in my axes, my tubes glowed with glee.
Magical sounds were finally coming from me!
My power chords sparkled like Grandpa’s new dentures.
My solos now sounded like Slash meets the Ventures!
I could not believe, as I played one more song,
that these perfect guitars had been mine all along!
“Santa,” I said, as I put my axe down.
“Can you set up my band and my friends across town?”
“Of course!” He exclaimed as he boxed up his tools.
“But my name isn’t Santa, it’s SEYMOUR, you fool!”
I heard him shout out as he drove out of sight
“Happy pickups for all, and to all a good night!”
Happy holidays to from Duncan land!