Give Me a Guitar

Give me a guitar and a microphone,
Any day.
None of this electronica for no reason.
Just some excuse, some trance to oblivion.
There's no soul, that's taken for granted.
Even the guitarists need to be nasty,
To make good music,
Doesn't make sense, why not get into the studio,
Try and make something emphatic,
Something honest, not crass.
It's got to pass its litmus paper test,
Every Morrisey strewn suburb turn of the screw,
Liar antics, scrum high voice voucher
Mumbling following the sons down their hopeless road.