I've got a little black book with my poems in.
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in.
When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.
I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on.

Got those swollen hand blues.
I got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from.
I've got electric light
And I've 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,

There'll be nobody home.
I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm
And the inevitable pinhole burns,
All down the front of my favorite satin shirt.

I've got nicotine stains on my fingers,
I've got a silver spoon on a chain.
Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.
I've got wild staring eyes
And I've got a strong urge to fly,
But I got nowhere to fly to.
Ooooh, babe, when I pick up the phone
(Surprise, surprise, surprise)
There's still nobody home.
I've got a pair of Gohills boots
And I've got fading roots.