Dave McGunn was a surfin bum, halfcrazed by the blazin sun.
From Waikiki to the Bering Sea, he rode em one by one.
Now he hung offshore bout a mile or more, out where the dolphins played,
And his wild eyes gleamed as he schemed and dreamed
To ride the perfect wave.
Oh, ride the perfect wave, Dave, ride the perfect wave.
If you wait it out and you dont sell out, you may ride
The perfect wave.
He crouched in the spray and he waited all day till the sun gave way to the moon,
And his legs grew cold and he grew old and wrinkled like a prune.
And the years rolled by and the surf broke high and the 40foot breakers sprayed.
But he sneered at em all, sayin, "Too damn small; Im waitin
For the perfect wave."
He was sleepin on his board when he woke to a roar as thunder shook the sea.
Twas the dreaded California quake of 1973.
And he stared at the reef in disbelief, then paddled with tremblin hands
As a monstrous crashin tidal wave came roarin cross the land.
It was 12 miles high and it filled the sky, the color of boilin blood.
And cities fell beneath its swell and mountains turned to mud.
Its deadly surf engulfed the earth and left not a thing alive.
And high on the tip with a smile on his lip was Davey hangin five.
He hit the top of the Golden Gate at a thousand miles an hour,
Over the top of the Empire State and the tip of the Eiffel Tower.
And as he wiped out, you could hear him shout as he plunged to a watery grave,
"Hey hi dee hi, Im glad to die Ive rode
The perfect wave."
