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 those 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 I've got 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
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
