I've 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
I've got thirteen
channels of s**t
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 the front
of my favourite
satin shirt
I've got nicotine stains
on my fingers
I've 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've got
a strange 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
but I've got
fading roots