Oh, Rapid Roy that stock car boy, he too much to believe;
You know he always got an extra pack of cigarettes rolled up in his t-shirt sleeve.
He got a tatoo on his arms that say “Baby”. He got another one that just say, “Hey”
But ev’ry Sunday afternoon he is a dirt track demon in a fifty-seven Chevrolet.
Oh, Rapid Roy that stock car boy, he the best driver in the land;
He say that he learned to race a stock car, by runnin’ shine outa Alabam’.
Oh the demolition derby and the figure eight is easy money in the bank,
Compared to runnin’ from the man in Oklahoma City with a five hundred gallon tank.
Oh, Rapid Roy that stock car boy, he too much to believe;
You know he always got an extra pack of cigarettes rolled up in his t-shirt sleeve.
He got a tatoo on his arms that say “Baby”. He got another one that just say, “Hey”
But ev’ry Sunday afternoon he is a dirt track demon in a fifty-seven Chevrolet.
Yeah, Roy so cool, that racin’ fool, he don’t know what fear’s about;
He do a hundred thirty mile an hour, smilin’ at the cam’ra with a tooth pick in his mouth.
He got a girl back home, name of Dixie Dawn, but he got honeys all along the way;
And you oughta hear them screamin’ for that dirt track demon in a fifty-seven Chevrolet.
Oh, Rapid Roy that stock car boy, he too much to believe;
You know he always got an extra pack of cigarettes rolled up in his t-shirt sleeve.
He got a tatoo on his arms that say “Baby”. He got another one that just say, “Hey”
But ev’ry Sunday afternoon he is a dirt track demon in a fifty-seven Chevrolet.
1972 – Jim Croce – Album: You Don’t Mess Around with Jim