Lyrics

The worst kind of man Some girls will tell you Is the kind that drinks too much at parties Does boring imitations Wear a lampshade for a hat And when he gets tired of that He tells dirty stories Then passes out in the morning glories I agree, he wouldn't be the man for me The worst kind of man in one girl's opinion Is a man who's in his early fifties But thinks he's Casanova All his clothes are Ivy League And he loves the gay intrigue He has a lusty hunger Only for girls that are thirty years younger I agree, he wouldn't be the man for me But still, when it's Saturday night And there's no one to take you to the dance You look through your little black book Let's see, no not him Look through your little black book Oh, those jokes, I couldn't stand it Once more through your little black book Well I guess he'll have to do What's the use of talkin? The worst kind of ridin' beats the best kind of walkin' So take it from me, don't be too choosy He may be duller than cotton stockings And drives a '41 Chevy And though his jokes are stale, he's breathing and he's male! What the heck, if he's at your beck and call You'll find the worst kind of man Is much better than No man, no man, no man at all