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 a cross the mud. 

Hauling shine was his regular line 'til the 

track got in his blood. 



Was a real hot shot and he bragged a lot but, 

man that fool could drive. 'Cause he loved the

feel of the steering wheel and the girls with the

bed-room eyes. And in a racing tide or a bar 

room fight old Stroker stole the show. A back

stretch blazer, a real hell raiser and a race 

track 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're 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 

They'll shove ya up 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 d---- 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. 



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