(ry cooder & jim keltner)



Lonesome outerspace invader blasting through the night

Tuning in the soul music on the satellite

All that low-down funky rhythm makes him jump and shout

Just got to find that ghetto planet that everyone's talkin' about



Tuning in the local scene on the radio

The d.j. on the radar screen is telling him where to go

The funky fever's getting louder, sounds just like a soul encounter

Cruisin' for some bar-b-que right up central avenue

And he's got a little dance he wants to do



He pulls up to a big night club in his ufo

Gets right in with all the folks out on the big dance floor

It really stops the action, everybody's mystified

To see that little step he's got as he goes glidin' by



Now, he ain't doin' the gigolo 'cause he ain't got no hips

Looks like the funky chicken man, 'cept he ain't got no hips

Those shiny metal threads he's wearin' really got some class

I'd say he was doin' the bomp, but i can't seem to find his ass



Now, everybody fall in love

He's reet, he's neat, he can't be beat

You shake your shimmy like i shake mine

He's hand held and he's jet propelled

Shake it up from sun to sun

He's fast and loose, he's full of juice

Shake it like an atomic bomb

He's got the goose so what's the use

That ufo has landed in the ghetto


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