FicWad

There was a young boy named Bill Bailey,
Whose stepfather punished him daily,
It may sound quite bad,
But Billy's real dad,
Abused him when he was a baby.

In church his stepfather preached,
And poor Bill had no freedom of speech,
Troubled he was,
A rebel with cause,
But always within cops' reach.

They kept him on lock down for days,
Only fuelling the anger and rage,
Almost always guilt free,
But the cops didn't agree,
Only seeing his juvenile ways.

On Sundays young Bill sang in choir,
His voice low, then higher and higher,
His one true escape,
Singing along to tapes,
His talent was greatly admired.

In school he was no main man,
Bill was bright and cross-country he ran,
Then one day met Izzy,
Mysterious and witty,
And the oddball friendship began.

The two shared a love for the tunes,
Rock N' Roll, Hard Rock and Blues,
But father did warn,
By Bible was sworn,
Rock music was Satan's own dos.

Young Bill didn't listen nor care,
Not now with his newfound affair,
But soon he was oust,
From his very own house,
Because Bill didn't cut his long hair.

The boys planned to start their own band,
In Los Angeles was what they had planned,
First Izzy left,
Then Bill in tow kept,
Then began their adventure so grand.

Meanwhile, way over in LA,
Slash and Steven their instruments did play,
Steven's wand his drumstick,
Slash's voice his guitar lick,
The two longed for a band some day.

Though hard as the two did try,
Most musicians just passed them by,
Poor Slash and Steve,
Would sit and would grieve,
And dream of the Rock N' Roll Lie.

They circled all night on the Strip,
Until somebody gave them a tip,
Two small town guys,
Who were on the rise,
Called the end of Slash and Steven's hardship.

So the boys went to check out the shows,
Of this band named Hollywood Rose,
They were knocked to the ground,
By the incredible sound,
And their search had now come to a close.

The guitarist could certainly play,
And the singer did shimmy and sway,
The two were unique,
Part glam and part street,
But to steal them, there just was no way.

In the meantime, an ad did appear,
What it asked for, it made very clear,
A bassist of punk,
Glam, metal and spunk,
Young Duff thought that he did adhere.

So he called up the number there set,
And for audition with Duff the band met,
Duff played his ass off,
The band threw their hats off,
He was the best player they had seen yet.

But still Slash and Steve did not grow,
They wouldn't settle for a regular Joe,
Their minds were now set,
On two boys from Lafayette,
The only thing growing was woe.

Then one day a phone call came through,
"Slash and Steven, we've heard about you,
Rob and Tracii dropped out,
We just can't play without,
Could you two fill in for a few?"

Of course the boys didn't refuse,
They packed all their gear and some booze,
They joined their new band,
Got into the van,
And began a most treacherous cruise.

They broke down in the middle of nowhere,
And in stage clothes walked under the sun's glare,
'Till finally a truck,
Did come and pick up
The Guns in their grief and despair.

Finally they made their first show,
And their gear the boys had to borrow,
Nobody came,
The band sounded lame,
And that was the peak of the plateau.

The rest of the shows were then axed,
Due to clubs not appropriately packed,
Their tour having blown,
The Guns headed home,
Gear, limbs and members intact.

But on the way back to LA,
Duff a catchy tune began to play,
Words came in a flash,
Pretty girls and green grass,
And suddenly, things seemed they'd be okay.

The verses sang of struggles most gritty,
The chorus sang of girls who were pretty,
They longed and they ached,
To be in that place,
"Take me home, to Paradise City."

They realised they had written a song,
About where Guns N' Roses belonged,
They knew then and there,
Forever they'd share,
An unbreakable bond so strong.

And so they had found it at last,
A hard rocking band that kicked ass,
Though long overdue,
The dream had come true,
For Axl, Izzy, Steve, Duff and Slash.

The End.