© By: Richard L. King
From the book Wanderin & Wonderin
I’ve been a beer drinker, dang near all my life,
though I didn’t drink very much, til I met up with my third wife.
I don’t like to talk bad, behind nobody’s back,
but when it came to beer drinkin, she really had the knack.
She was one of them there gals, they wrote about in that there song,
She could drink ya under the table, an it wouldn’t take her very long.
I don’t remember the singer’s name, but his words I shore believe,
He said, “I cain’t be with nobody, who gets drunker an me.”
Well, in all my born days, I never did see the like.
She drank me under the table, then carried me to my bike.
‘Bout that time, I’d begun to think that this was pretty cool.
She’d gotten me out of the place, ‘fore I started actin’ a fool.
She finished off her beer, as she plunked me on my ride,
hauled me off to the preacher man, then she became my bride.
There’s another country song, but the singers not the same,
bout being married to yer waitress, when ya don’t even know her name
Them’re words of wisdom, but I heared em too damn late,
an a hard drinkin’ biker chick, turned out to be my fate.
Nuthin’ agin’ biker chicks, an nuthin’ agin’ hard drinkin,
but ever since that night, she’d been doin’ all my thinkin’
She’d tell me when I could go, an she’d tell me when to be back
I’da booted her out long ago, but she was damn good in the sack.
She’d a been real purtty too, least that was my belief,
that is if it had’na been fer, she’s a missin two front teeth.
Anyway, as I mentioned, she might’ a lacked a little class.
She said if yer talkin behind my back, yer in a good place to kiss my ass.
She overheard me conversatin, one night with my big brother.
She might’ a heared me a talkin’ ‘bout, my sexy other lover.
Now she keeps smiling at me, through them there missin’ teeth.
She keeps offer’n me more beer, an this here’s my belief.
She’s a plannin’ to get me drunk, she knows I cain’t resist,
then she’ll disappear me, an’ tell em all that I left pissed.
She’ll bury me with my bike, an I’ll jist be among the missin.’
Soon a nuf, at the biker bar, there’s another she’ll be a kissin.’
I plan to let her dig the hole, I’ll let her throw in my ride,
then I’ll hit her over the head, an bury em side by side.
Then when people ask, I’ll say she stole my bike,
‘course gettin’ to and from the bar, will be quite a nasty hike.
I been a talkin’ in the past tense, now I’m a fixin to say the reason,
I writ that poem years ago, jist cause I found it pleasin’.
But now I’ve actcherly met that gal, or at least her carbon copy.
Picked her up long side the road, the other day in my old jalopy.
Now the words to that old song, bout her gettin’ drunker’n me,
well, that’s how it’s done worked out, an she cain’t keep track of the key.
‘Course, she cain’t drive me home, she’d never pass the test,
so I either walk er call a cab, which I think is prob’ly best.
Ya ain’t allowed to hit no gal, whether yer drunk or sober.
So ‘fore ya hook up with no biker chick, Ya ought a git to know‘er.
Gramps use’ta say
than a good pair of ®Carhartts.”
(…ceptin maybe Mama when she’s been crossed.”)