If you give a mouse a motorcycle,
don't be too surprised
if he starts behaving strangely
once he knows he's motorized.

He may act a bit bizarrely.
He may dress a little weird.
He might buy a leather jacket
and then grow a honkin' beard.

When he straps a helmet on his head
and boots upon his feet,
then you'll see him pop a wheelie
and go racing down the street.

Pretty soon he'll find he's fond 
of doing motorcycle tricks.
He'll be jumping over cars and trucks
and buses just for kicks.

He'll start working at the circus
where he'll take away your breath
as he rides with other rodents
in the flaming cage of death.

When he accidentally crashes
he'll have no more fun and games;
just the screech of twisting metal
as his bike explodes in flames.

And without his motorcycle
he'll be fired from his job.
He'll become depressed and lonely
and a sad and smelly slob.

And the only way to save him
from this misery and pain
is to buy another motorbike
so he can start again.

So remember this advice:
Don't even trust him with your keys.
If you need to give a mouse a gift,
it's best to stick with cheese.

--Kenn Nesbitt

This poem appears in the book
The Tighty-Whitey Spider