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.
