I've got a little black book with my poems in, I've 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 these swollen hand blues

Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from

I've 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've got the obligatory Hendrix perm, And the inevitable pinhole burns

All down in 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, I've got a strong urge to fly But I've got nowhere to fly to

Ooooh Babe when I pick up the phone There's still nobody home

I've got a pair of Gohills boots, And I've got fading roots