| Lyrics |
Tom johnston / john hartman
Tiran porter / michael hossack
I was ridin' down that highway
Silver harley by my side
When i thought i saw my lady
She was headed for the berkely hill
Pistol on her hip in case she needed a thrill
I don't believe it, don't believe a word
I don't believe it, don't believe a word
I said, come on with me, baby
Don't you want to ride with me
She put her hand into her bag, now
Pulled out a half pint of red eye sauce
Sneakin' 'round the corner, drinkin' whiskey from a jar
I don't believe it, don't believe a word
I don't believe it, don't believe a word
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