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 blus.

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 my mortal remains.

i've 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.

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.