I suppose this poem might piss some people off. se la vie
People ask “what makes a biker?”
I hear that question a lot
I’m not sure there is an exact answer
but I’m pretty sure what they’re not
They’re probably not those hardtail hardheads
who park their rides in front of the bar,
whose asses are parked on a barstool inside
but whose bikes never travel too far.
They’re not those fat-cat wannabes,
trailers hauling their custom bikes
from rally to rally all year long
they don’t know what real riding is like.
Tattoos sure don’t make you a biker,
although some have tats, some do not.
Expensive black leather isn’t enough
It’s something that just can’t be bought.
Do all biker’s have to ride Harleys?
I love my Harley, but that’s just not true
I’ve ridden with guys on all kinds of bikes
who were “bikers” through and through.
Are all one per-centers bikers?
I know that many of them ride free
But some of them are just assholes,
just another kind of wannabe.
To me real bikers are riders
out there with their wheels on the highway
putting on the miles, living in the ride,
on every back-road and byway.
Instead of hiding under the overpass,
right on through that storm they glide.
They know that trailers are made for boats,
that it doesn’t have to be sunny to ride.
A biker will stop to help you out
if you’re down along the way
The brand you ride doesn’t matter a damn
They might need your help some day.
To me it’s all about the ride,
about living out there on the highway,
about rolling with a few good friends,
but you don’t have to do it my way.
If you think its all about the tats,
about the chrome, the leather, the bars,
you can go ahead and live that life,
but you might as well drive a car.
You don’t need a nice motorcycle
to get all rowdy and drunk,
to dress up like a pirate and
fight with some dumb punk.
Me, I’ll be out there on that highway,
making that Road King roll.
I bought it to ride, and I feel deep inside
I’m a biker, right down to my soul.
Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis