http://siggisiggibangbang.com/archives/2824 Sannleikurinn eins og höfundur hefur logið honum að sjálfum sér Mon, 30 Jan 2012 13:18:33 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1 http://siggisiggibangbang.com/archives/2824/comment-page-1#comment-6028 agust Sun, 31 May 2009 22:22:31 +0000 http://siggisiggibangbang.com/?p=2824#comment-6028 Er þetta ekki bara spurning um að fara í dítox samanber http://www.baggalutur.is/index.php?id=4576 Er þetta ekki bara spurning um að fara í dítox samanber http://www.baggalutur.is/index.php?id=4576

]]> http://siggisiggibangbang.com/archives/2824/comment-page-1#comment-6026 Steini Bjarna Sat, 30 May 2009 20:01:06 +0000 http://siggisiggibangbang.com/?p=2824#comment-6026 I've got a little black book with my poems in I've got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb 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. Got thirteen channels of shit 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'll be nobody home I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm And I've got the inevitable pinhole burns All down the front of my favourite 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 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 I’ve got a little black book with my poems in
I’ve got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb 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.
Got thirteen channels of shit 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’ll be nobody home
I’ve got the obligatory Hendrix perm
And I’ve got the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favourite 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
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

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