Wide Open Throttle

Sun up through the pine trees. Helmet on and smell like gas. Kick dirt by

the creek bed. Every mile moving way too fast. Mama said, "Boy,

slow down." But freedom's loud when the wheels hit ground. Dust in the

air, heart in the zone. Two wheels feel like home.

Wide open throttle, hang on tight. Two wheels flying into Friday night. Red clay scars

and a fearless grin. Yeah, this is where the living begins.

No breaks, no fear, just twist and go. If heaven's real,

it's this two-stroke roar. Back roads, fences, creek runs deep.