hard lovin' loser

he's the kind of guy

puts on a motorcycle jacket

and he weighs about

a hundred and five

he's the kind of surfer

got a ho daddy haircut

and you wonder how

he'll ever survive

he's the kind of frogman

wearing twenty pounds

of counter weights and

sinking in the sea like a stone

he's the kind of soldier

got no sense of direction

and they send him

in the jungle alone

but when the

frost's on the pumpkin

and the litle girls are jumping

he's a hard loving son of a gun

he's got em waiting downstairs

just to sample his affairs

and they call him

a spoonful of fun

he's the kind of person

going riding on a skateboard

and his mind's raging

out of control

he's the kind of person

goes to drive a maserati

puts his key inside

the wrong little hole

he's the kind of ski bum

tearing wild down the mountain

hits a patch where

there ain't any snow

he's the kind of cowboy

got a hot trigger finger

shoots his boot cause

he's drawing kind of slow

but when he comes in for bowling

he's an expert at rolling

sets the pins up

and lays em right down

he's got em taking off their heels

and they like the way he feels

and they call him

a carnival clown

well

he's got a parachute

and screaming like geronimo

and makes a little hole

in the ground

he's the kind of logger

when the man hollers

timber

got to stop and look

around for the sound

he's the kind of artist

rents a groovy little attic

and discovers that he

can't grow a beard

he's the human cannonball

come in for a landing

and he wonders where

the net disappeared

but when he takes off his shoes

it won't come as news

that they're lining up

on threes and in twos

he's got em pounding on the door

got em begging for some more

he's got em pounding on the door

got em begging for some more

and they call him

whatever they choose