If there’s one thing that turns me on,
No matter what the weather,
It’s the throb of a Harley Davidson,
And the smell of well-worn leather,
That pulsating power,
Rising up through me above,
Makes my nipples stand erect,
Oh Goodness me … I think it’s LOVE!
Now a man’s machine will generally,
Tell you a lot about a bloke,
And if he owns a Harley Davidson,
Then he’s usually always broke.
He’ paying off a mortgage,
On a house he’ll never own,
And Child Support for his children,
Who he only talks to on the phone,
The ex-wife is a nasty bitch,
With no true sense of fair play,
So he just pays his ex-family’s bills,
And stays out of the ex-wife’s way,
He’d like to see more of his kids,
But she’ll have none of that,
She repeatedly tells both him and them,
That he’s useless, old and fat.
He’s a King without a Castle,
But you’d hardly ever know,
As he rides his Harley Davidson,
To Rallies, Bike and Tattoo Shows,
His mobile throne beneath him,
Polished chrome and spotlessly clean,
HOG HEAVEN is his personal Paradise,
Riding the highway on his machine.