Paper Mountain Man

Well you live, in a tiny bungalow With a Dutch wooden door, and a pot belly stove You wear marlboro boots and buckskin jackets Sewn by the love of your many ladies' hands You've been called a hero, You've been called to bed, You've been to be-damned But we'll shake your hand You're like a paper mountain man You live ten telephone poles and two trees up a dirt road Outside the city line You like delicate ladies with real fine skin You'll touch 'em But you'll never love, that's the way you've always been You've been called a hero, You've been called to bed, You've been to be-damned But we'll shake your hand You're like a paper mountain man Heard tell you're half a racoon and half horse trader Taking time to key your life biased high You're wearing curly hair, teasing round your ears With a heavy booted walk tapping low funk blues You've been called a hero, You've been called to bed, You've been to be-damned But we'll shake your hand You're like a paper mountain man...