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 called 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 called be-damned
But we’ll shake your hand
You’re like a paper mountain man
Heard tell you’re half a raccoon 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 called be-damned
But we’ll shake your hand
You’re like a paper mountain man…