From: jimwy@amtfocus.amt.gss.mot.com (Jim Wygralak)
Newsgroups: rec.motorcycles
Subject: DoD Anthem Lyrics
Date: 1 Sep 92 14:09:17 GMT
Organization: Motorola, Inc.  GSS/AMT,  Arlington Heights, IL

I sat down the other evening with my walkman and my
"Best of Arlo Guthrie" tape and transcribed the lyrics to the
"Motorcycle/Significance of the Pickle" song.

Here's what I came up with:



(singing)
I dont want a pickle
Just wanna ride on my motorsickle
And I dont want a tickle
I'd rather ride on my motorsickle
And I dont wanna die
Just wanna ride on my motorcy.....cul.

(spoken)
Ya know, Its been about 12 years now that I've been singing this
dumb song.
Ya know, its amazing, its amazing that somebody could get away
with singing a song this dumb for that long.
But you know, hey, you know whats more amazing than that is that
somebody could make a living singing a song this dumb.
But, thats America.

You know, I told about everything there was to tell about it.
When I wrote it, how come, why, what for.
But you know the one thing that I always used to neglect to explain,
was the significance of the pickle.

Was a time I was riding my bike, I was going down a mountain road.
I was doing 150 miles an hour.
On one side of the mountain road there was a mountain,
and on the other side there was nothin'
Was just a cliff in the air.

But I wasnt paying attention, ya know, I was just driving down the road.
All of a sudden, by accident, a string broke off my guitar.
It broke, ya know, right there, went flying across the road that way,
wrapped itself around a Yield sign.
Well, the sign didnt break, it didnt come out of the ground,
the string stayed wrapped around it, stayed in the other end of
my guitar. Held onto my guitar with one hand. I held onto the bike
with the other. I made a sharp turn off the road.

Luckily, I didnt go into the mountain. I went over the cliff.
I was doing 150 miles an hour sideways and 500 feet down, at the same time.
Hey!  I was lookin' for the cops, cuz, you know, hey, I knew that
you know, it was illegal. I knew that, that was it. I knew that I didnt have
long to live in this world, and in my last remaining seconds in the world
I knew that it was my obligation to write one, last, farewell song, to the
world.

Took out a piece of paper. I pulled out a pen and it didnt write.
I had to put another ink cartridge in it.
I sat back and I thought a while, and then it come to me.
It come like a flash, like a VISION, burnt across the clouds.
I just wrote it down.
I learnt it right away.

"I dont want a pickle
 Just wanna ride on my motorsickle.
 And I dont want a tickle,
 I'd rather ride on my motorsickle.
 And I dont wanna die,
 Just wanna ride on my motorcy...cul."

Hey I, you know, I knew it wasnt the best song I ever wrote.
But I didnt have time to change it.
But you know the most amazing thing was that I didnt die.
I landed on the top of a police car.
And it died.

I come into town at a screaming 175 miles an hour singing my new motorsickle
song. I stopped out front of the deli and out front of the deli was
man eating the most tremendous pickle. A pickle the size of four pregnant
watermellons, just a HUUUUGE, monster-pickle.

He walked up to me, pushed the pickle in my face, and started asking me
questions. Was about the same time I noticed the pickle in my face
I noticed a cord hanging from the long end of the pickle, going up his sleeve,
down his shirt, into his pants and shoes, out into a briefcase he had
near his feet.

I knew it wasnt a ordinary pickle. But it was about the same time I noticed
the cord hanging out of the pickle, that a 4 foot cop arrived with a 5
foot gun. A cop that one time must have been around 6 foot 3 but was met
at the bottom of a mountain by a flying, singing, writing, wierdo freak.

He walked up, and with one tremendous hand, he grabbed the pickle away
from the other guy. He threw it, a hundred feet straight up in the air.
And while the pickle was half way between going up and coming down
he took out his gun and put a 3 inch bullet hole right through the
long end of the pickle.

It started coming back down. He stuck out his foot. He caught the
pickle on his big toe. Balancing the pickle on his big toe he reached
his huge hand into his little pocket, pulled out a 10 foot ticket.
He borrowed my pen. He wrote it up. Then he rolled it up and stuffed
it in the bullet hole in the middle of the pickle, took the pickle
with the ticket and shoved it down my throat.

It was at that very moment that the pickle with the ticket was going down
my throat that, I knew for sure that, that I didnt want a pickle.

I dont want a pickle,
I just wanna ride on my motorsickle.
(singing)
And I dont want a ticket,
I'd rather ride on my motorsickle.
And I dont wanna die,
Just wanna ride on my motorcy.....cul.
Newsgroups: rec.motorcycles