"Cash, Grass or ***-No One Rides Free!"* reads the bumper-sticker slapped on the ratty Harley. Its black leather seat is cracked, tattered and torn, the headlight is busted and there's no friggin' horn; with mismatched saddlebags strapped to each side, the panhead leaks like a sieve, but it's still quite a ride.
The gas-tank is dented, scratched and coated with muck, the chrome no longer shines, but who gives a flyin' ****? Its tires are bald, the spokes are all rusted to ****, and the frame is off-kilter from a cage-driver'*****.
The biker just puffed the last hit from his pipe, slammed down the rest of the J.D. from the bash last night; then he hops on his hog, kicks the monster to start, the muffler-pipes blast flames and roar like a ****.
Together they roll down the road like old pals,' with nowhere to go, just obnoxious and loud: the tombstone tail-light flashes bright red on this mess, 'though Cashless, Grassless and Assless, they couldn't care less!