You've got no blues to speak of,
says the brand new harmonica in my hands.
Fuck you, i say.
and think about it.
This blues you speak of. . . has it rhythm?
cause i know i ain't got none of that.
Fuck you! is the harmonica's rebuttal.
you listen to "It's Britney, Bitch."
You've got no blues to speak of.
i can be your backdoor man all night
And you can blow me all day,
but in the end you'll be dissatisfied and I cum
Thinking about someone else.

And that, boys and girls, is the tale of the dormant harmonica.

Will our heroine find her way out of the burning car's trunk?
Will we soak our pants in anticipation?
Stay tuned to find out.