Hard Lovin' Loser (Richard Farina) Hes the kind of guy puts on a motorcycle jacket And he weigh 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 counterweights 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 jumpin' He's a hard loving son of a gun He's got them waiting down the stairs 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 it comes in for rolling, he's an expert at bowling Sets the pins up and lays 'em right down He's got them taking off their heels, and they like the way he feels And they call him a carnival clown He's got a parachute and screaming out "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 cannon ball come in for a landing And he wonders where the net disappeared But when he takes off his shoes, man, it won't come as news He's got them lining up in threes and in twos He's got them painting on the floor, got them begging for some more And they call him whatever they choose. ------------------- Copyright 1965 Whitmark Publ. Rec. by Farina on "Reflections in a Crystal Wind" Vanguard VSD-79204 GF Apr98
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!