I got a little black book with my poems in I've got a bag with a toothbrush and comb in When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on Got those swollen hands blues Got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from I got electric light And I've got second sight I've 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 got the obligatory Hendrix perm And the inevitable pinhole burns All down the front of my favourite satin shirt I've got nicotine stains on my fingers I've got a silver spoon on a chain I've 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 There's still nobody home I've got a pair of Gohill boots But I got fading roots
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