| I was born with a silver wheel in my mouth
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| And when I got old enough I drove it south
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| Down to the dirt tracks to get a start
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| I didn’t know a lot about racin'
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| But I talked the part
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| And they said «Put your wheels where your mouth is, boy»
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| So I moved right on up to a fifty dollar car
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| With a few thousand more, I knew I’d be a star
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| With a hocked up, propped up, clunky wreck
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| I knew it wasn’t much, but it was racin'
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| And I said «Daytona, you’re next»
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| Well, I ate dust and bad food, drank from a jar
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| When things got bad I even slept in that car
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| With a drip pan, dirty nails and grease in the hair
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| I knew it wasn’t much, but it was racin'
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| But I didn’t know where
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| And I still don’t
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| I’ve been a pit man, a flag man, a gas man, a tow man
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| Many a man just to run a car
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| I haven’t had a run of luck to get me far
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| I know it ain’t much, but it’s racin'
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| And someday I’m gonna be a star
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| I could sing a long song about me and that sport
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| But I got me a ride so I’ll cut it short
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| Just don’t call me crazy 'til you’ve tried it out
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| Dirts of Daytona, it’s racin'
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| That’s what it’s all about
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| Alright, boys, let’s roll it on out
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| Ah, that’s a pretty machine
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| I think I’d even steal for that car |