I got a little black book with my poems in
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a combing
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 ** on the tv
To choose from choose from
And I 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 got the omega tree hendrix pearl
And the inevitable pinhole
Burnt 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 strange urge to fly
But I've got nowhere to fly
To fly to fly to fly to fly to fly
Ooh
Babe
When I pick up the phone
There's still nobody home
I've got a pair of gold heels boots
But I've got fading room