Moby Grape - Motorcycle Irene

There she sits a-smokin', reefer in her mouth
Her hair hanging' northwards as she travels south
Dirty on her Harley, but her nails are clean
Super-powered deflowerer, over-eighteen 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
'Tis 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, the Horseman and the Fool
Prayer books and candles and carpets, cloaks and jewels
Knowing all the answers, breaking all the rules
Stark naked, unsacred Motorcycle Irene