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His hat's a bicycle helmet
His home's a telephone booth
He says, "Nuts!" in the morning for breakfast
He's got heart at the moment of truth.
The plume on his bicycle helmet
Matches the red of his nose
it also matches
the blue & red patches
He glued to his stolen old black leather clothes
He'll push it right up to the limit
Then one more notch and a wink
Then outlast the odds and the chances
& he's never the first one to blink.
He's a poet, a beggar, a player
& he's crazy right up to the hilt
He steals Harley's for goin' to Sturgis
But only the one's Barger built
He claims Roadrash Jones is his handle
Which was given to him by a bro:
An outlaw Angel named BadBoy,
Who dearly loved Beer, Speed, & Blow
Who was mashed in the grill of an oncoming Mack
While doin' a hundred and four,
& a wheelie, a doobie, a beer & a line
& a hooker just lookin' to score
And that's just one of his stories
Plus he rides & he rhymes & he rants
Plus dumpster-dives & jukes & jives
And embarrasses both of my aunts
He lives by his stars & his passion
The ladies all think he's real cute
'Cause he's righteous & raunchy & ready
& bonkers & bearded to boot
His hat's a bicycle helmet
His home's a telephone booth
He says, "Nuts!" in the morning for breakfast
He's got heart at the moment of truth.
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