Drivin' my race car is my way of making a livin'
My way of puttin' the bread on the table at home
I'm gettin' back about half as much as I'm givin'
And I couldn't make it without a good woman at home

First place could be just a dream but I'm gonna chase it
Finishing out of the top ten is nothing but bad
And a junker won't ever be first I might as well face it
First class equipment is somethin' a man's got to have

You might even call me a twentieth century drifter
Thirty-two weekends I load up the car and I'm gone
And my woman cries with each goodbye kiss that I give her
And she prayes that come Monday morning and I'll be driftin' home

Well my woman sleeps in my arms and I lie here thinkin'
Half awake half asleep I run and re-run the race
From dark end till dawn it goes on my half awake dreamin'
And ever so often I dream of me taking first place

It's got to be more than a dream dreamin' won't make it
Or dreaming won't ever put bread on the table at home
And racing runs deep in my veins and I'll never shake it
I'm tied to it just like I'm tied to the woman at home

You might even call me a twentieth century drifter...

See also:
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