The speculators made their money on the blood you shed
Your momma's pulled the sheets up off your bed
Profiteers on Jane Street sold your shoes and clothes
Ain't nobody talkin' because everybody knows
We pulled your cycle up back to the garage
And polished up the chrome
Our gypsy biker's comin' home
Sister Mary sits with your colors, brother John is drunk and gone
This old town's been rousted, which side you on?
They favored march up over the hill in some fools parade
Shoutin' victory for the righteous
But there ain't much here but graves
Ain't nobody talkin', we're just waitin' on the phone
Our gypsy biker's comin' home
Whoa!
We rode her into the foothills, Bobby brought the gasoline
We stood 'round her in a circle as she lit up the ravine
The spring hot desert wind rushed down on us all the way back home
To the dead, well, it don't matter much 'bout who's wrong or right
You asked me that question, I didn't get it right
You slipped into your darkness, now all that remains
Is my love for you brother, lying still and unchanged
To them that threw you away, you ain't nothin' but gone
My gypsy biker's coming home
Now I'm out countin' white lines
Countin' white lines and getting stoned
My gypsy biker's coming home
Whoa!
La-la-la-la
La-la-la-la
La-la-la-la
La-la-la-la
La-la-la-la
La-la-la-la
La-la-la-la
La-la-la-la
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
