I Am an Old Gibson


I am an old Gibson born in 1959
My lineage comes by the Modernist line
I am made from ebony and Korina wood
And I sound better than most guitars should

Thru my humbucker pickups I sing
To thee I make the amplifier tubes ring
Anthems of hard electric blues
By skilled fingers that to the notes in me lose

Born off of my ebony fingerboard they come
Twisting and snarling, razor-edged and undone
In minor keys crying and weeping
From Celestions Vintage 30’s come leaping

By those who give birth to those notes
Circling like a predatory bird in the air they float
So I like being handled by the human touch
I like the limelight very much

They call me a Flying V
One look and that’s easy to see.
Between the sets hanging from my neck in the stand
In some smoky, dark club along with the rest of the band

In a place where we go for some mental rest
From the things that humans won’t confess
And my owner’s name is Albert King
And he really knows how to make me sing

A left-handed giant black man
Who makes me weep or cry because he can
I can feel Albert’s soul in his touch
And he loves me that much

I watched a beautiful woman sitting at a table one night
All alone with her sadness in the shadows out of sight
And Albert walked over to her table
Wiping her eyes, pulling herself together for this blues fable

And Albert asked for her name
For she was remiss to tell him just the same
So he sat down and comforted her
In her hours of woe that were

And I saw the tears flowing from her eyes once again
And Albert put his huge hand on hers trying to ease her pain
And her tears he was able to restrain
In this sad, dark night club refrain

He got up on stage and said “This song is for the lady in blue.”
“I wrote it myself, and it’s called I’ll Play The Blues for You.”
And Albert picked me up and I knew exactly what he wanted
So I gave it to him the notes of all the broken hearted.

His touch upon her hand put her perfume on my neck
And Albert’s toil and sweat keep me in check
And I’ve worn beer, blood, sweat and tears
Like a badge of honor all these years.

I’ve heard things I can’t repeat in English
I speak them to you in 12 bar blues anguish
Albert has this young friend named Stevie Ray Vaughn
To whom Albert thinks the sun rises and sets upon

And Stevie wanted to play me one day
When he picked me up I knew right away
His hands made the music in his soul
So from me brand new notes he did extol

But his heart to him was true
One side of rock and the other blues
And I could hear Albert in him
And in Albert, Stevie again

And so like the old man that plays me
I am the other side of the icon you see
For I have been played by the worst and the best
The spirit of the guitar is me, I put them to the test

I am an old Gibson guitar
I hang on their chests like a shining star
I am the Flying V
Who I am is easy to see

My scratched up gold pickups are my voice
And some choose me just for that choice
For I am the Flying V
An old Gibson Electric you see

And I’ve seen them all come and go
And I’m the one that makes the music flow
An electric machine gun for the notes
Their pitch and timbre no other guitar can quote

For I am an Electric Flying V
I am the famous Gibson sitting on a musician’s knee
I am here for all to see
Some want to be you and some want to be me.

Dave Proffitt
3/4/2014
12:37 am