Wild Bill...

My Mentor

I meet him first in his wrecking shop
this biker mate of mine
He’s not a pretty sight at all
his skin all smeared with grease and grime
in a greasy old black T-shirt
has as tough as an old boot
and he’s hard but not unreasonable
the classic old tough coot
Then I was just another kid,
with no idea at all
but he took the time to talk to me
not set me for a fall.
And after that we spent some time
on highways or the shop
and reading his old biker mags
an chowin down on slop.
The sound of his old shovels note
became a welcome sound
and even my old mongrel dog
would want to be around.
We’d have some coffee, some cigars
and often times some beers
as he laid out his outlaw views
developed through the years
He’d talk of scoots,
and tattooed brutes,
of packs with which he’d roam
His tales of a reckless youth
when saddlebags were home.
And any time my bike was broke
he’d never let me down
but help me to restore her grace
not treat me like a clown.
The pub on every Friday night
became an institution
with scoots before the beer garden
to keep em from persecution.
But with the good times came the bad
he lost his shop to thieves
while none of us got even
everyone of us got mad.
He had to move it all out west
to save from going broke
when his old truck died by the road
It had him by the throat
I found out then
how few good men
will back you when your down
when moneys short
mates cant be bought
but a few true bro’s dropped everything
and had a working bee
and proud I was to be amongst
so loyal and so free.
We all chipped in to do our best
worked solid through the night
moving parts, sore feet, torn skin
a bitter draining fight
We worked tween work
then back again
by stars and under lights
And though he never asked us to
we knew that it was right
He’d taught us all of biker law
and central was the part
you back your mates to hell and back
their names carved in your heart
and well we’d learnt of give and take
and so we bleed
for a brothers sake
And as day passed
and sleep was missed
our spirits got more tired
with coffee and hard rock n roll
we carried on though tired.
Tony he just hung in there
with tired feet and glassy stare
and June worked harder than us all
Her man would not go to the wall.
Finally the job got done
with bugged back and hands for pay
I staggered home and hit the sack
and slept two solid days!
When next I saw my biker mate
he had a smile for me
he said "you boys came through alright"
and I began to see
beyond the chrome and steel
of bikes to something that ya feel
when tried and true are by your side
united, going for a ride
and good or bad don’t matter
only what ya got inside.