I've got a little black book with my poems in.
Got a bag with a [bad word] and [bad word] 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 [bad word] 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 will be nobody home.
I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm.
And the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favorite 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.
And 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.