(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