The Cool Dude wore a black beret;
Dark sun glasses on a cloudy day,
A leather jacket with a silver star,
Drove a '69 two-tone Pontiac car;
Had a red tattoo of a bleeding heart
In a green-black vase all broken apart,
And all the women from here to Howe
Would stop and look with a raised eye-brow
As the Cool Dude passed with his car top down.
And he whistled and waved from town to town,
And everone knew when they saw young Jacque,
Here was a man made of steel and rock.
The Cool Dude played a saxophone,
He could make it wail in a soulful tone,
He could make it hum, he could make it sing,
Make it fly away, sail, on a feathered wing,
And he wouldn't come back for a breath of air,
Till the ladies gasped and the men did sware,
And everyone sighed when he finished the tune,
And he walked outside 'neath the autumn moon,
With a kind of swagger and a kind of strut,
With a bouncing step and a bouncing butt,
And the women folk hung by his side in droves,
Like the mango trees in Mexican groves.
Now the Cool Dude drank like a desert horse:
Two six-packs and Scotch, of course,
washed down quick with a sour or two,
As he chewed on nuts and he nursed his brew,
But the way he drove his car that night
Wasn't too cool and wasn't too bright,
As he sped from town and around the curve,
And he lost his grip and he lost his nerve,
As he hit the brakes a little too late,
And he lost it all in a twist of fate,
As the Cool Dude died of a bleeding heart,
with his green-black car all broken apart.
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