Ive got a little black book with my poems in
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in
When Im a good dog
They sometimes throw me the bone in
I got elastic bands keepin my shoes on
Got those swollen hand blues
I got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from
Ive got electric light
And Ive got second sight
I got amazing powers of observation
And that is how I know, when I try to get through
On the telephone to you, therell be nobody home
Ive got the obligatory Hendrix perm and the inevitable pinhole burns
Now all down the front of my favorite satin shirt
Ive got nicotine stains on my fingers, Ive got a silver spoon on a chain
Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains
Ive got wild staring eyes
And Ive got a strong urge to fly, but I got nowhere to fly to
Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone there is still nobody home
Ive got a pair of Gohills boots and I got fading roots