The speculators made their money on the blood you shed
Your momma's pulled the sheets up off your bed
Profiteers on James Street sold your shoes and clothes
Ain't nobody talking because everybody knows
We pulled your cycle up back the garage and polished up the chrome
Our gypsy biker coming home
Sister Mary sits with your colors, but Johnny's drunk and gone
This old town's been rousted, which side you on?
They would march up over the hill, this old fool's parade
Shouting victory for the righteous for you must hear the grace
Aren't nobody talking, but just waiting on the phone
Gypsy biker coming home
Whoa!
We rode into the foothills, Bobby brought the gasoline
We stood around the 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 about 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, life's still unchanged
To him that threw you away, you aren't nothing but gone
My gypsy biker's coming home
And now I'm out counting white lines
Counting white lines and getting stoned
My gypsy biker's coming home
Whoa!
[x8]
La la la la
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
