I don't want to eat a pickle, i just want to ride my motorcycle. 'nuff said.
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Great lyric, great LP.Reportedly, producer Todd Rundgren made fun of Andy Partridge for rhyming "umbilical" with "cycle" in the song 'Season Cycle' from XTC's classic album Skylarking. But the lyric was kept.
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Most of “Blinded by the Light?” The Springsteen version, of course. I’ve always said my favorite thing about that song is all the goofy rhymes.

I know the feeling, you round one of those curves, like on 129, and the bottle slides to the back and you can't reach it. You try to pump the brakes to make it roll forward but nothing helps. Only to get it back it to park the truck. But then you can use the seatbelt for a bottle opener.Not to derail, but....
I can't tell you how many country songs have some sort of line about keeping beer or moonshine or wine "under the seat of my pickup truck".
Now, I grew up redneck. I still have redneck tendencies. I have logged hundreds of thousands of miles in pickup trucks. I have never, EVER, considered storing beer under the seat of a pickup. That's just about the worst place I can think of to store beer for a whole host of reasons. I have also been to plenty of redneck parties, and I have yet to see a girl dancing "up on the tailgate of that pickup truck" either. Can you imagine a drunk girl in heels dancing on that uneven surface?
(The third line in the trifecta of bro country cliché's is something about "Daisy Dukes". That one is pretty accurate.)
I love a good pickup truck. I drive one to this day. But even with their long list of uses, dancefloor and beer storage aren't there.
Rifle prop? Tree removal? Dirt hauler? Bass boat tow machine? Daughter's boyfriend chaser? Yep.
Dancing and beer storage are dumb.
Mostly the gibberish from Anthony Keidis on ‘Around the World’
Nee nay no go you
Nee nay to go you nay
There's this gem from Sling Blade: (I'd post a clip, but it's laced with profanities)
I stand on the hill, not for a thrill
But for a breath of a fresh kill
And
Never mind the man who contemplates
Doin’ away with license plates
He stands alone, anyhow
Baking the cookies of discontent
By the heat of the laundromat vent
Leaving his soul …
partin’ the waters
of the medula oblongata
of
Mankind
