Mr. Sullivan flies a prop plane He keeps it at the dock Sometimes he'll make some money Dropping tourists from rock to rock At night he's at the bar A margarita in each hand More than once I've found him Passed out in the sand Mr. Sullivan's got a shack on the beach He lives there like a king I know he likes to spear fish But he's never caught anything When he came from the main land Nobody really knows But he's on the run So the story goes He's down here laying low Storm's rolling in He will see it coming Say you need a hand You know that he'll come running To board up your windows He's getting pretty tired The man never quits But sometimes he gets fired I told him of the rumors He just laughs and laughs and laughs He said, "Kid, I wish that I had A more interesting past No I just love the sea There isn't much else to say I had a boring life Flying commercial flights I had to get away"