Nobody Home

I've gotta little black book with my poems in,
Gotta bag and tooth brush and comb in,
When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in,
I've got elastic bands keeping my shoes on got those swollen hair blues,
I've got 13 channels of shit on the TV to choose from.

I've got electric light and I got second sight,
I got amazing powers of observation,
But that is how I know when I try to get through,
On the telephone to you there'll be nobody home.

I got the obligatry Hendrix perm and the enivitable pin hole burns,
All down the front of my favorite satin shirt,
I've got Nacatine stains on my fingers I've gotta silver spoon on a chain,
Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.

I've got wild-starring eyes and I got a strong urge to fly,
But I got nowhere to fly too,
Oh Babe when I pick up the phone there's still nobody home.

I got a pair Gohen's boots and I got fading roots.