Steve McQueen's
in Motorcycle Heaven
by Dean Borok

Steve McQueen has left us all, gone to fly away
Like when he robbed that Boston bank and loved Faye Dunaway,
And caught a plane down to Brazil,
And outsmarted all those cops,
We all knew then what we know now,
That Steve McQueen is tops

And when they locked him up in the Frenchmen's prison isle,
He didn't give up 'til he got free,
Although it took a while,
He spent ten years in solitaire,
But his spirit never broke,
He floated out on coconuts,
He always went for broke

Nobody could run him, he did things his own way,
Like when he stole that motorbike and nearly got away,
He tore up the German countryside,
And drove the nazis nuts,
They had to shoot him in the back,
Because he had more guts

In The Getaway he pushed his luck,
And ended up in a garbage truck,
And when it pushed him out the back,
You know he didn't give it up,
He shot down all those Texas creeps and ripped off all their bread,
And made it down to Mexico while they were lying dead

But now he's left us with our dreams,
To shoot across the sky,
On a cosmic golden chopper,
With wings to make it fly,
So when you hear the thunder on a god-forsaken night,
He's just tuning up his engine to get the timing right,
And if you see a shooting star spread sparks across the black,
It might just be his hot-rod Ford on a quarter-mile track,
They tell us that the good die young,
We accept it as a rule,
But why is it the best go first,
And not some other fool?