hard loving loser

Lyrics

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