Steve,

Hard Lovin' Loser is in Rise Up Singing. I have typed it up for you. I did not find it in the data base.

He's the kind of guy puts on a motorcycle jacket and he weights about a hundred and five.
He's the kind of of surfer got a hodaddy haircut and you wonder how he'll ever survive.
He's the kind of frogman using twenty pounds of counterweights and sinking in the ocean like a stone.
He's the kind of soldier got no sense of direction and they send him in the jungle all alone.

But when the frost is on the pumpkin and the little girls are jumpin'
He's a hard lovin' son of a gun.
He's got 'em 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 ragin' out of control.
He's the kind of person tries 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 rollin',
Sets the pins up and lays them 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 the kind of guy puts on a motorcycle jacket and he weights about a hundred and five.
He's the kind of of surfer got a hodaddy haircut and you wonder how he'll ever survive.
He's the kind of frogman using twenty pounds of counterweights and sinking in the ocean like a stone.
He's the kind of soldier got no sense of direction and they sent him in the jungle all alone.

But when the frost is on the pumpkin and the little girls are jumpin'
He's a hard lovin' son of a gun.
He's got 'em 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 ragin' out of control.
He's the kind of person tries 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 rollin',
Sets the pins up and lays them right down.
He's got them taking off their heels and they like the way he feels,
And they call him a carnival clown.

Well, he's go 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!" has 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 a human cannonball, comes 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 linin' up in threes and twos.
He's got them pounding on the door, got them begging for some more,
And they call him whatever they choose.

Well, he's go 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!" has 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 a human cannonball, comes 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 linin' up in threes and twos.
He's got them pounding on the door, got them begging for some more,
And they call him whatever they choose.

Enjoy the song.

Roger in Baltimore