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,

Got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from.

I got electric light, and I got second sight.

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 favorite satin shirt.

I got nicotine stains on my fingers,

I got a silver spoon on a chain.

Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.

I got wild staring eyes,

And I got a strong urge to fly,

But I got nowhere to fly to

(fly to, fly to, fly to, fly to, fly to, fly to, fly to).

Oooooh, babe, when I pick up the phone,

There's still nobody home.

I got a pair of Gohill's boots,

And I got fading roots