Poverty stricken but still i'm a-stickin' to the things i know to
Be facts
One day it's feathers and the next day chicken while i'm pickin'
My yakety axe
Ev'rybody says that i never will get far, keepin' out of work by
Pickin' this guitar
Livin' on a shoe-string, puttin' off things like a shave and a
Hair cut

Money don't matter as long as i scatter a little bit of
Happiness around
If people keep a grinnin' i figure i'm a winnin' my good old
Yakety sound
City folks go around turnin' up their noses and countin' their
Greenbacks and smellin' their roses
But i wouldn't trade my yakety axe, even for a t-bone

I'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 sound
So 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 back
You're diggin' my yakety axe

Now, a pick