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....