The speculators made their money On the blood you shedYour Mama's pulled the sheets up off your bedThe profiteers on Jane Street Sold your shoes and clothesAin't nobody talking 'cause everybody knowsWe pulled your cycle out of the garage And polished up the chromeOur Gypsy biker's comin' home Sister Mary sits with your colorsBrother John is drunk and goneThis whole town's been roustedWhich side are you onThe favored march up over the hillIn some fools paradeShoutin' victory for the righteousBut there ain't much here but gravesAin't nobody talkin' We're just waitin' on the phoneOur Gypsy biker is comin' home We rode her into the foothills Bobby brought the gasolineWe stood 'round her in a circleAs she lit up the ravineThe spring high desert wind Rushed down on us all the way back home To the dead it don't matter much'Bout who's wrong or rightYou asked me that question I didn't get it rightYou slipped into your darknessNow all that remainsIs my love for you brotherLying still and unchangedTo them that threw you awayYou ain't nothin' but goneOur Gypsy biker is comin' home Now I'm out countin' white linesCountin' white lines and getting stonedMy Gypsy biker is coming home.