Lyrics:
Poverty stricken but still I'm a-stickin' to the things I know to be factsOne day it's feathers and the next day chicken while I'm pickin' my yakety axeEv'rybody says that I never will get far, keepin' out of work by pickin' this guitarLivin' on a shoe-string, puttin' off things like a shave and a hair cutMoney don't matter as long as I scatter a little bit of happiness aroundIf people keep a grinnin' I figure I'm a winnin' my good old yakety soundCity folks go around turnin' up their noses and countin' their greenbacks and smellin' their rosesBut I wouldn't trade my yakety axe, even for a T-boneI'm confessin' I never took a lesson, all my notes are a matter of guessin'Hopin' they'll come out in some kinda of manner that'll make the yakety soundSo if you're in the mood and your feet start tappin'And you feel laid back and your hands start clappin'Then I'll have done what I wanted to from way backYou're diggin' my yakety axeNow, a pick