Granny’s Tractor Joins a Biker Gang
She rolled up slow in denim vest,
With flames airbrushed across her chest.
The bikers scoffed, then heard her roar,
That diesel growl shook heaven’s floor.
Lou filmed her pop a wheelie slick,
As Ma screamed, “That ain’t her stick shift trick!”
Pa cheered loud with one glass eye,
Granny winked and passed ’em by.
The preacher crossed himself in fear,
As she peeled out with root beer.
Granny led them through the wheat,
Doing donuts in Sunday heat.
Now Harleys park near cattle feed,
And leather vests come stitched with seed.
Her gang rides deep in row three corn,
Where octane meets the early morn.
Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)
Last Updated on April 11, 2023 by Alan Nafzger