Well, he's the kind of guy puts on a motorcycle jacket and he weighs about a hundred and five, manHe's the kind of surfer got a whole daddy haircut and you wonder how he'll ever survive, manHe's the kind of falcon wearing twenty pounds of counterweight and sinking in the sea like a stone, manHe's the kind of soldier got no sense of direction and they send him in the jungle aloneBut when the frost's on the pumpkin and the little girls are jumpin' he's a hard-lovin' son of a gunHe's got them way down the stairs and to sample his affairs and they call him a school full of fun, manHe's the kind of person goin' ridin' on a skateboard and his mind ragin' out of control, manHe's the kind of person gonna drive a Maserati with the key inside a hole in the hullHe's the kind of ski-bar tearin' wild down a mountain, it's the kind where there ain't any snow, manHe's the kind of cowboy got a hot-trigger thing that shoots his boot cause he's goin' kinda slowBut when it comes time for a rollin' he's an expert old bowlin' sets a pin top to him and lays him right downHe's got them takin' off their heels and he likes the way he feels and they call him a carnival clown, well nowHe's got a parrot screamin' as to run amoe and makes a little hole in the ground, manHe's the kind of logger when the man hard as timber has to stop and look around for the sound, manHe's the kind of artist that's a groovy little addict and discovers that he can't go up here, manHe's a human cannonball comin' from a mountain and he wonders where the net disappearedBut when he takes off his shoes, man, it won't come as news that they're lightin' up and freezin' in tubesHe's got them payin' for the load and they're beggin' for some more and they call him a liver that chewsWell, well, well, well, well, well, well, he's the kind of guy puts on a motorcycle jacket and he weighs about a hundred and five, manHe's the kind of surfer got a whole daddy hair cut and you wonder how he lives his life, manHe's the kind of frogman wearin' twenty pounds of counterweight and sinkin' in the sea like a stone, manHe's the kind of soldier got no sense of direction and they send him in the jungle aloneBut when the croc's on the front, man, and the little girl's a jumper, he's a hard-lovin' son of a gunHe's got them waitin' down the stairs just to sample his affairs and they call him a scooper of funScooper of fun