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Lyr Req: Hard Lovin' Loser (Richard Fariña)

16 Jan 99 - 09:10 PM (#54481)
Subject: Hard Lovin' Loser Lyric request
From: Steve in Wisconsin

Does anyone remember this Richard Farina tune? I used to play it (not sing it) and I want to learn it again. It starts:

"He's the kind of guy puts on a motorcycle jacket and he weighs about a hundred and five"

Thanks,

Steve


16 Jan 99 - 09:48 PM (#54493)
Subject: Lyr Add: HARD LOVIN' LOSER (from Rise Up Singing)
From: Roger in Baltimore

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


19 Jan 99 - 06:50 PM (#54793)
Subject: RE: Hard Lovin' Loser Lyric request
From: Steve in Wisconsin

Many Thanks, Roger!!

Acoustically,

Steve


20 Jan 99 - 05:51 AM (#54861)
Subject: RE: Hard Lovin' Loser Lyric request
From: Joe Offer

Well, Roger, that's two of us who got caught. It was already in the database when I typed up the lyrics in May 1998. Long song. Good typing practice....
-Joe Offer-


14 Jun 08 - 02:18 AM (#2365649)
Subject: Memonic suggestions?
From: JesseW

I'm working on memorizing this song, and I found it's really quite difficult to memorize -- the order of lines within verses, and order of verses, seems pretty arbitrary.

I've come up with little mnemonic stories for most of the lines (below, in italics), but I'd be curious what other folks have used in trying to memorize it...

He's the kind of guy puts on a motorcycle jacket / And he weighs about a hundred and five
He goes on his cycle to the beach...
He's the kind of surfer got a ho-daddy haircut / And you wonder how he'll ever survive
Then goes diving under the water...
He's the kind of frogman wearing twenty pounds of counterweights / And sinking in the sea like a stone
Where he swims to Vietnam and gets drafted...
He's the kind of soldier got no sense of direction / And they send him in the jungle alone
What do you find in jungles? Pumpkins!
But when the frost's on the pumpkin and the little girls are jumpin' / He's a hard loving son of a gun
If the girls are jumping, he must be somewhere up high, i.e. above stairs...
He's got them waiting downstairs just to sample his affairs / And they call him a spoonful of fun
Suggestions?

He's the kind of person going riding on a skateboard / And his mind's raging out of control
After he falls off the skateboard, he tries driving...
He's the kind of person goes to drive a Maserati / Puts his key inside the wrong little hole
No one will let him near a road now, so he goes to the slopes...
He's the kind of ski bum tearing wild down the mountain / Hits a patch where there ain't any snow
Now with too many injuries to do more than stand up and shoot...
He's the kind of cowboy got a hot trigger finger / Shoots his boot 'cause he's drawing kind of slow
Suggestions?
But when it comes in for rolling, he's an expert at bowling / Sets the pins up and lays 'em right down
I presume they are putting on bowling shoes instead of heels, right?
He's got them taking off their heels, and they like the way he feels / And they call him a carnival clown
They have parachutes at carnivals, don't they?

He's got a parachute and screaming out "Geronimo!" / And makes a little hole in the ground
Out of which a tree grows...
He's the kind of logger when the man hollers "Timber!" / Has to stop and look around for the sound
What's on top of trees? Bushy things -- like a (bad, little) beard!
He's the kind of artist rents a groovy little attic / And discovers that he can't grow a beard
Despairing over his failures as an artist, he jumps out of the attic...
He's the human cannon ball come in for a landing / And he wonders where the net disappeared
He'd have to take his feet off, too, after that landing... Suggestions?
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
Suggestions?
He's got them panting on the floor, got them begging for some more / And they call him whatever they choose.


P.S. Joe (or another elf), please do link this thread (and the one from 1998) to the DT entry. It'd also be nice if a number of prominent redirects from the title "Hard Loving Loser" were made to this song, as I know I regularly mis-type it's title like that...

P.P.S. The DT version is missing apostrophes in a number of places, and has a number of spelling errors, including the howler: "painting on the floor" -- I don't think that was the original word... It'd be nice to fix those...