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United States of America United States of America


I've got a little black book I put my poems in
Got a bag with a toothbrush and comb
When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in

I got elastic bands keepin my shoes on
Got those swollen hand blues
Got serveral million sites of shite on the wideweb 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'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 marijuana 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
Oh, Babe, when I pick up the phone
There's still nobody home

I've got a pair of Doc Martin boots
and I got fading roots...