Besedila: Doobie Brothers. What Were Once Vices. Road Angel.

I was ridin' down that highway,
silver Harley by my side,
when I thought I saw my lady.
She was headin' for the Berkeley 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