I got a little black book with my poems in Got a bag, got a toothbrush and a comb 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 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've got wild, staring eyes And I got a strong urge to fly But I got nowhere to fly to Ooooo Babe When I pick up the phone There's still nobody home I got a pair of Gohill boots And I got fading roots