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Poverty stricken but still I'm a-stickin' to the things I know to be facts |
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One day it's feathers and the next day chicken while I'm pickin' my yakety axe |
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Ev'rybody says that I never will get far, keepin' out of work by pickin' this guitar |
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Livin' on a shoestring, puttin' off things like a shave and a haircut |
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Money don't matter as long as I scatter a little bit of happiness around |
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If people keep a grinnin' I figure I'm a winnin' my good old yakety sound |
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City folks go around turnin' up their noses and countin' their greenbacks and smellin' their roses |
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But I wouldn't trade my yakety axe, even for a T-bone |
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I'm confessin' I never took a lesson, all my notes are a matter of guessin' |
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Hopin' they'll come out in some kinda manner that'll make the yakety sound |
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So if you're in the mood and your feet start tappin' |
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And you feel laid back and your hands start clappin' |
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Then I'll have done what I wanted to from way back |
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You're diggin' my yakety axe |
