(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 cla** I'd say he was doin' the bomp, but i can't seem to find his a** 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