Motorcycle Man

In a little road café worked a girl named Frilly Fay.

The Motorcycle Man, he came in clickin’ his heels

A man and his wheels.

He knew how it feels.

He said, “Baby, take a look outside.

I got a big machine. Take you for a ride.”

Fay said, “It’s not how it looks.

I come high off the hog

Make some man a good cook.”

The man, he never heard such tales

He mumbled and stumbled and chewed on his nails.

All alone in a run-down restaurant and business was slow.

But he didn’t know

Fay was achin’ to go.

They sat and stared side-by-side

She ate out her heart and he choked on his pride.

In the door came Rosie Jones with nothing to lose

Wings on her shoes

And a body made to use.

The Man, he made his pitch and out they went without a hitch.

With a friendly wink to Fay, they roared away

And, in the small café,

No one heard Fay say:

“Sing your song, Motorcycle Man,

Sing your song. I’ll be along as soon as I can”.

The moral of this nursery rhyme:

You come off yours and I’ll come off of mine.

Let’s not end like Frilly Fay

Full of such tales

Biting our nails

And throwing our lives away.

(Chorus)