Stroker Ace was born to race

He had a mean streak ten feet wide

A son of a gun with a taste for fun

And more than his share of pride

Take a dirt road curve with the Devil's nerve

And make a car dance across the mud

Haulin' shine was his regular line

'Til the track got in his blood



He was a real hot shot and he bragged a lot

But man, that fool could drive

Cause he loved the feel of a steering wheel and the girls with the bedroom eyes

And in a racing tight or a bar room fight

Old Stroker stole the show

A back street blazer and a real hell raiser and a racetrack Romeo



Mama lock your daughters up that wild bunch is back in town

And them little girls get frisky when they hear that racecar sound

They bringin out the yellow flag, somebody's brakes have failed

There's an oilslick on the inside and a wreck along the rail

You better stand on it, Stroker, cause a bandit's on your tail.



It's a downright joy for a country boy

When he hears them engines moan

But you gotta hang tough and it gets real rough

When you're out there on your own

Cause they'll push you around, they'll knock you down

When you're up there against the wall

And you always know when an engine blows

That a man can't win 'em all

You could push that car just a little too far any Sunday afternoon

And if you break your neck in some damn fool's wreck they'd forget about you soon

But old Stroker Ace was born to race and it's worth all the trying

Just to drink champagne in the Victory Lane and to hear that concrete whine



Stroker get your dander up this ain't no time to lag

You've got to make a lap up if you want to take that checkered flag

Number ten is closin' in to even up the score

It's time to wave bye-bye and put the pedal on the floor

You better stand on it Stroker cause you're blowin' off their doors.



Spoken:

Blow their doors off, Stroker. Stand on it, Son. Ah, you good lookin' devil, you.