This is the story of my bike you see,
it was quite old and I got it for free.
It may sound strange, but what I say is true,
he had his own mind, always knew just what to do.

When I went out, staying 'till late in bar,
he rode a block or two but never really far.
And when I came out, drunk, my face filled with foam,
He never asked questions, he just took me home.

But then one day,
one day he was away.
Someone stole my little bike,
just when the busses were on strike.

So I went looking for it,
but I couldn't find him anywhere.
So I just bought a new kit,
but this one didn't seem to care.

After this one, I had a couple more,
but they never were as smart as the one before.
Now when I'm drunk I always end up in a ditch,
my face full of cuts, needing more than one stitch.

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