Nobody seemed to know where John came from,
He just same every week like a man on the run;
He didn't say much, kind of quiet and had the blues,
If he spoke at all, he just said: "Where's your dues?'

Somebody said he came from Bloomington,
Where he got in a fight just for fun;
And a crashing blow from a huge right fist,
Very rarely ever did miss.

Then came the day at the top of the tree,
When a timber cracked and the wind blew free;
Members were praying and hearts beat blue,
And everyone thought the club was through -- 'cept John.

Through the rain and wind of that storm,
Walked a very familiar form;
Grabbed a hammer and saw, gave a shout,
And like a giant machine he started to pout.

With all of his strength he started to work,
A member yelled, "What a jerk!"
Then three some members scrambled to help that bub,
Now there's a slightly smaller, brand new club.