Shy and meek,
Rubs the grease off of each cheek;
Working hard to say the least,
‘Cus angst can’t pay the bills.
Now that Mister Michael’s on his black motorcycle
And if looks could kill,
He’d ride or die for the thrill.
Drawing his gun,
Tryin’ to shoot someone;
Tryin’ to have some fun.
Cigarette between his teeth
While he speeds the streets.
Talk of the town wherever he’s seen.
They all say, “how’d he get so mean?”
All black leather wear,
Dressed to the 9’s,
Not afraid to commit some petty crimes
Or empty some lead so they won’t drop a dime;
Leading girls on with his every line.
He’s saved up for a Harley Dave
And he may swing the other way,
But he’s not going back
And there’s no time for that.
Riding through the streets
To keep him out of the sheets.
But it’s all for show
Until he gets home,
Combs his long greasy hair,
Perfects his 80’s bad boy stare.
Checks for a sign of rain
Before he goes out and does it all again.
“How’d he get so mean?” they all say.
How could he stay a player and a biker dear
If they ever found out he were gay?