| My lengthy bass haiku
This was originally in the bass haiku thread, but I decided it's better here:
Not pros or cons, but just some poetry about my early years....
Peavey T-40
My very first bass
Made me think that all basses
Were made that heavy
Bought it with money
Received at Christmas from my
Crazy Aunt Duckie
I had no idea
What all the knobs were there for
or how they functioned
Previous owner
Used to stick his cigarette
Against the headstock
Created a scorch
Mark between the G and D
Tuning pegs - redneck!
The hardshell case smelled
Like old cigarettes and booze
Took weeks to air out
First played with a pick
Until my jazz band teacher
Told me I coudn't
Wore lots of white tape
On my fingertips that year
Looked like nail polish
Technique was awful
Until I got to college
And took "proper" lessons
Famous professor.
Everyone loved him but me.
I couldn't stand him.
He was like a huge
Bill Cosby, arrogant. We
often disagreed.
I played in punk bands
The T-forty was good for
Beating drunk morons
The body was able
To break the nose of frat-boys
And still stay in tune
That bass went with me
All over the country. It
never let me down
Last year I purchased
The bass I dreamed of owning
For many long years
Musicman Stingray
Is now my main bass of choice
To lay down the grooves
But the T-Forty
Has its place in my music
room, and in my heart
Now when I hear guys
Whine about heavy basses
It makes me chortle
Playing that old bass
Will build up the trap muscles
In your left shoulder
After twenty years
of playing that monster bass
All others are light | 
