We’ve all seen ‘em, those bright shiny rides,

Between beauty, chrome and comfort, they can‘t decide.

Just to get it out of the showroom, it takes a hefty loan,

You have so much into it, your afraid to leave home….

The riders them self are nothing like me,

Because where I come from they just can’t see.

They spend all there time just making the chrome shine,

I have a hard time imaging their brother’s of mine…..

My sled you see, would never be their pride,

Because an old road worn Harley is what I ride.

It’s been called a rat or just a piece of shit,

By those who can’t see the beauty in it…..

She takes me from here, and brings me to there,

Up through the hills to breaths the clean air.

What else can you ask from a bike that you love,

You just know she was a gift, from God up above…..

I’m the first to say she’s nothing to look at,

But she’s never let me down, she always had my back.

I know a time will come when we’ll both have to quit,

I just hope they bury me, sitting on top of it…..


But, until that happens, we’ll continue to soar,

I call her “ Scrap Iron “ she’s an old 74.….

Speedy

10/2009