Jeff's Birthday Roast  "Jefe Uno Via"

You might be a biker or you could be a piker, maybe an outlaw who’s indicted.
Perhaps you resisted, but your arm was twisted.  None the less, you got invited.

But none of you are leavin’ until I get even, with this wayward son of mine.
He put us through the paces with cops and their chases until he finally got a spine.

One particular cracker was Officer Backer who would chase him every other night.
Like a ghost who was haunted, Jeff teased and taunted by riding his bike with no light.

Oh, he’d get cut up and scraped, but at least he escaped with his handle bars all askew.
But Backer prevailed and Jeff got his ass nailed.  His mom had to come to the rescue.

When he was about seven, our little boy from heaven, ran out in front of a car.
He busted his leg like a hard boiled egg and his head bounced off of the tar.

They wrapped him in plaster, it turned into a disaster, his physician got mad at his pa.
I put concrete on his cast to make the thing last and the doctor ruined his saw.

As he got a little older, his antics got bolder.  He would surf his car like Kahuna.
The Subaru was green, but it was a flying machine and they launched it off of Fortuna.

Then our little boy got a Celica for a toy.  It turned into the rice rocket from hell.
Held together with wires, had baloney skin tires, did a hundred’n twenty for a spell.

The springs had been cut, couldn’t get over a rut unless it was flat out in third.
Sparks were flying while his Mother was crying.  I was glad when he totaled that turd.

Give him three cheers, not a drink in twenty years.  Glory be to God and his powers.
My hat’s off to him.  Although it might be a sin, I’ve never gone beyond twenty hours.

Nick names?  Had a few, Jeffer’s since the age of two.  Plus others we cannot name.
How he got that Gumby tag, must’ve been some kind of drag.  I simply cannot explain.

I mean a bad assed biker dude needs a name fit’n crude. He’s not some rubber toy.
Come to think it just might fit.  He always was a little shit.  He’s still our silly boy.

It must go back aways to his younger days when he portrayed a puppet made of clay.
Though he may be liable, he sure ain’t pliable, but he tends to do things his own way.

You all have learned, you get a nick name when it’s earned.  Now he’s “Jefe Uno Via”.
So when you’re “Chief One Way”, them chicks just say “Sorry dude, I’ll see ya!”

You know, I gotta confess I’d like to see Jeff dress, in some better looking threads.
No more leather and studs, like the Crips and the Bloods, tats, wife beaters and Keds.

How about some Italian boots, a couple of pin striped suits, then I’d know he’s serious.
No, he’d rather look gnarly and wipe down his Harley and watch commuters get furious.

One of my gripes, is those damned loud pipes.  He tells me it’s to alert other drivers.
Really it’s, “I am a genius.  I’ve got a big penis.”  A gene pool with fewer survivors.

Fortunately for his aunt, it’s a loud power plant.  She almost got hit by the herd.
The boys and “Bo Diddley” were cruising Little Italy and missed her flipping the bird.

As they rounded the curve, they didn’t even swerve while she was crossing the street.
She beat a retreat with an acrobatic feat, and just missed being an old piece of meat.

I get a little misty when I think about Kristy.  I mean, what does she see in this guy?
I could see Evil Knievel, he was really primeval, but changing Jeff is just pie in the sky.

If you’re a pilot don’t panic, Jeff’s a good mechanic, but don’t let him work on your ride.
With helos he’s trained n’ the scope is contained, but with a bike he’s Jekyll and Hyde.

Forty sounds like plenty, but with Jeff it’s like twenty.  He’s the way I was at that age.
Fortunately for me and you’d probably agree, Marsha got me through my anal stage.

For years it’s tradition when there’s enough ammunition, the celebrant is turning forty,
We take the worst of their past, pray it’s surpassed, and throw in the cane to be sporty.

His name is engraved with others depraved, men admired since the days of his youth.
My name is there, when I had a lot more hair.  Jeff tries, but he’s not near as uncouth

Happy birthday son, it was all done in fun.  Take the cane you’ve earned up till now. Always be proud that you’re in the right crowd.  Pass it on to your successor to avow.