Phil Ochs checked into the Chelsea Hotel
There was blood on his clothes and they were dirty
I could see by his face he was not feeling well
He'd been to one too many parties
He walked in the lobby a picture of doom
It was plain to see he'd been a-drinkin'
I had to follow him up to his room
To find out what he was thinking
"Train, Train, Train"
From the outlaw in his brain
But he's still the same refrain

He walked in his room and he fell on the floor
Hanging in his hangover
Now the act from the stage he plays on the street
Handing out piles of money
His audiеnce now is the bums that he meets
Is hе a phony or funny?