Song parody of
Motorcycle
by Nan Vernon
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Bartholomew sits in the back of a pick-up truck
He's on his way to Santa Fe to meet his brother
And to his brother there is no one
Together they will hitchike to Canada
Where they will meet their good friend Joe
Who waits patiently by the side of the road
Lazy on Sunday
Crazy on Thuesday
You're my Coca-Cola, baby
And I'm your misfit pearl
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
I can hear you but I can't see you
You've come so close
To becoming someone else
You're a fascination
A dislocation from the mire
Lazy on Sunday
Crazy on Thuesday
You're my Coca-Cola, baby
And I'm your misfit pearl
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
This bitter grape has such a sweet aftertaste
A surprise present from the Cuban kid
Thank you mister kid
Thank you
Satchels of prayers
Shall scrape this pilgrimage
Skyscrapers cling
To their paradise in the sky
You and I shall combine the information
And satelite toward a virgin star
Bartholomew sits in the back of a pick-up truck
He's on his way to Santa Fe to meet his brother
And to his brother there is no one
Together they will hitchike to Canada
Where they will meet their good friend Joe
Who waits patiently by the side of the road
Lazy on Sunday
Crazy on Thuesday
You're my Coca-Cola, baby
And I'm your misfit pearl
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
I can hear you but I can't see you
You've come so close
To becoming someone else
You're a fascination
A dislocation from the mire
Lazy on Sunday
Crazy on Thuesday
You're my Coca-Cola, baby
And I'm your misfit pearl
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
This bitter grape has such a sweet aftertaste
A surprise present from the Cuban kid
Thank you mister kid
Thank you
Satchels of prayers
Shall scrape this pilgrimage
Skyscrapers cling
To their paradise in the sky
You and I shall combine the information
And satelite toward a virgin star
