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Motocycle Irene
Moby Grape
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There she sits a-smokin', reefer in her mouth
Her hair hangin' northwards
As she travels South
Dirty on her alley but her nails are clean
Super-powered deflower over 18 Irene
Seen her in the bare, where her tattoos and her chains
Wrap around her body, there written are the names
Of prisons she's been in
And lovers she has seen
Curve-winding, bump and grinding motorcycle Irene
Ground around like hamburger laying in a splat
This Irene's machine I see, in pieces crumpled flat
Her feet were in the bushes, her toes were in her hat
Stark-ravin', all-unshaven motorcycle Irene
The hunchback, the cripple
Horseman and the fool
Prayer books and candles and
Carpet cloaks and jewels
Knowing all the answers but breaking all the rules
Stark-naked, unsacred motorcycle Irene