Kentucky Ridge Runner
On a back road in Kentucky
In a bright blue fifty Chevy
Bobby Wheeler ran a race
That would surely be his last.
With his foot glued to the peddle
The rocks flew off the metal
He blazed on through the woodlands
Like a shotgun’s firery blast.
Kentucky ridge runner
It wasn’t just a name.
Kentucky ridge runner
A taste of glory and of fame.
It was early in October
In the county of Conover
Where Bobby ran the ridges
Making history on that day.
He needed just this one race
To forever save his own place
As the best hometown racer
To ever drive that way.
Kentucky ridge runner
It wasn’t just a name.
Kentucky ridge runner
A taste of glory and of fame.
He flew ninety miles an hour
In a car of untold power
The only thing he focused on
Was the glory and the fame.
With hands tight on the steering
And the other car still nearing
He barely even noticed
The gentle morning rain.
So on down Taylor’s Hill
Past the signs for Cameron’s Mill
He flew without a thought
But to win this final race.
Then as he ran that last ridge
His rear wheels left the old bridge
And when they found his body
He a smile upon his face.
Kentucky ridge runner
It wasn’t just a name.
Kentucky ridge runner
A taste of glory and of fame.