Judy Collins - 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 little 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 the 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 in 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