]I hate 4-stroke dirt bikes, and the guy who wrote this poem is my hero.
by Johnny Airtime



Silently they pushed the beast
And thousands came from west and east
Pushing four strokes, all by hand
Their sound unwelcome in the land
From near and far the four strokes came
To end their lives of total shame
None were bought and none were sold
From north and south the four strokes rolled
They used a crane to make a pile
The crane broke, so after a while,
Another came and broke once more
So they went back to that crane store
And got the biggest one in stock
It lifted four strokes, what a shock!
It piled them up like cow manure
And left a crater, that's for sure
When the last four stroke was placed
The crane man said, "Let's torch this waste!"
A fire was started through the pile
And guns were fired a little while
Fighter jets did strafe and bomb
While kamikazes with napalm
Went down face first into the mire
To make the perfect burning fire
Atom bombs and hydrogen