Stroker Ace was born to race
 He had a mean streak ten feet wide
 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
 back street blazer and a real [bad word] 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 [bad word] 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.