Hendrix/Xmas
He was the dirt-poor Johnny B. Beste
Black kid who never got a Red Ryder BB gun nor the beautiful 6 string His voodoo child hands dreamed of holding
Broom-strumming tunes in his bedroom
Until he became experienced, bold as love, Wah-Wah pedaling an Izabella Strat, standing next to her fire, Finger-fanning Zebra flames blazing all along the watchtower
Hoochie Coochie rooster-crowing his hoodoo mojo Spellbound by a red-housed foxy lady, Stone freed from the chains of manic depression
And now, high above the yuletide purple haze Star-Spangled night skies of America, The wind cries...~Jimi~
DON PESAVENTO