HE rides a black fire steel machine
that handles like it’s part of him;
a warrior among a chosen breed,
he’ll protect and serve the ones he loves;
others he’ll be wary of,
and enemies would do well to take heed.
He wears the scars from fights in bars
and altercations with motor cars,
and tattoos that display his inner psych.
Through struggles, thick and thin,
he holds dear those close to him—
his brothers, family and his bike.
He’s earned the trust of many men;
they know that he’ll look out for them,
and likewise, if he’s ever under threat.
He’s one percent of those who ride,
a badge that he can wear with pride—
he did the time to earn his respect.
Don’t be fooled by the media ghouls;
it’s not all death and evil rituals.
His motivation isn’t pain and crime;
his reputation is of one who’s tough,
but only when the going’s rough!
He just lives to ride and have a good time.
So if you see someone like this—
let’s face it, they’re quite hard to miss—
riding alone or in a pack,
observe as they pass
a defiant display of class.
He did the time to earn his patch—
the patch he wears with upon his back…
written by Moonboot