I've got a little black book with my poems in. Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in. When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.
I've got elastic bands keepin my shoes on. I've 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. And 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 the inevitable pinhole burns All down the front of my favorite satin shirt. I've got nicotine stains on my fingers. And a silver spoon on a chain. And a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.
I've got wild staring eyes. And a strong urge to fly. But I've got nowhere to fly to.
Ooooh, Babe when I pick up the phone There'll be nobody home.
I've got a pair of Gohills boots and I've got fading rootsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.