Ive got a little black book with my poems in
Ive got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in
When Im a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in
I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on
Got those swollen hand blues.
Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from
Ive got electric light
And Ive got second sight
Ive 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 Ive got the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favourite satin shirt
Ive got nicotine stains on my fingers
Ive got a silver spoon on a chain
Ive got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains
Ive got wild staring eyes
Ive got a strong urge to fly
But Ive got nowhere to fly to
Ooooh Babe when I pick up the phone
Theres still nobody home
Ive got a pair of Gohills boots
And Ive got fading roots.
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