It’s the night before Christmas, and all through the shop.
Everyone is partying, even our local cop.
The dancers have missal toe, covering their wears.
Old bikers sing Drummer Boy, while sloshing their beers.
The choppers are polished, chrome parts on the racks.
Lyn’s cooking the books, while I play the Sax.
Outside on the street, a trikes lights start a flashing.
We think it’s a wreck, but we didn’t hear crashing.
In stumbles a dude, all dressed in red fur.
A bell on his hat, shaking, said, Brrrrr!
I hand hit the bottle, saying here have a shot.
That’s one hell of a big trike that you’ve got.
He smiled through his beard, hands me back the bottle.
Said thanks for the drink, now I need to grab throttle.
Climbs on to his ride, fires up the big trike.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a new Bike!