For you one percenter’s, you know who you are,

Bad ass reputations and hardcore by far.

But us 90 and 9, fill up the large troop,

Of loner’s and couples, other clubs an groups.

Riding Jap bikes and British and German machines,

Italian, Russian and our American Dreams.

There are other bikes too, from more foreign lands,

Too numerous to mention, but with legion’s of fans.

Then there’s bobber’s, and cruiser’s, and bagger’s too,

Crotch rocket’s, chopper’s, and trike’s quite a few,

Of every design, color an style,

Riding alone or in pairs, or in single file,

Wearing leathers or tee-shirts, or blue jeans and chaps,

Boots and gloves, helmets, dew rags or caps,

All types of threads, with pins and patches,

Single tattoo’s, or inked up in batches.

Cowboy boots, sneakers, an even “flip flops“?,

And military style boots worn by the cops,

Then buckles and studs, and chained trucker wallets,

Chrome domed, pony-tailed, or even sporting mullets.

Some copping an attitude, all tough and burly,

Others youthful, pulling wheelies, an women quite girlie.

Old narly bikers that don’t give a damn,

An wanabee newbies, and the business man.

These clubs are our neighbors, and civic associations,

Based on brands or beliefs, or some other situation,

Like war vets and Winger’s, and Harley Owner Groups,

Or Christian Associations, or with some professional roots.

Hitting the highways and back roads we roam,

The wind in our face, the sun shining off chrome,

The feeling of freedom, not caged in a car,

Whether short runs alone, or road Rally’s afar,

Charity fund raisers or club poker runs,

Or other destinations, just to have fun.

Were an odd looking group when all gathered together,

At Bike Week Daytona, bare chest or in leather’s.

But we’re exclusive to two wheels…   or three at the most,

And wouldn’t join with all groups, or ride with all folk’s,

But as the 90 and 9, we’ll all stick together,

An look out for each other, an those freedom’s we treasure.