The way you threw yourself at the waiter,   could tell by the look on his face   he thought you were mad   You went off riding on the equator   I tell you that waiter sure was glad      You sold your story to the newspaper   and went round the world in a caravan   You made lots of people very unhappy   and turned yourself into a wanted man      Then you said that the world was something to behold,   not to be bought or to be sold   It was something that you could hold      You've got something special, it's a secret   You're in transit, a nomad   You left that girl in Panama City   I said it was the best woman you ever had      You called me up from where you were living,   said you had some more stories you wanted to tell   about how you always spent your life   in some kind of prison   I said those true stories are the hardest to sell