Tom: E major•
Verse 1
E
Somewhere in South Carolina near a
C#m
dirt track there's a shrine
A
Erected to the memory of a
B
Bm
little 'ole friend of mine
E
A natural born dirt dauber,
C#m
car racing was his game
A
B
He rolled 'ole number 7 Fire
Verse 2
E
With the makings of a honker
C#m
and a roll of bailing wire
A
He tied his hopes together and
B
just set them tracks on fire
E
Three hundred fifty on the
C#m
hood; a big 7 on each door
A
In his heart a will to win and
B
E
his right foot on the floor
Verse 3
it and turn left.
B
If someone's gonna beat you
E
A
make him runâ??
All he knew was ???? and
B
E
Fireball rolled a seven and he won.
F
Verse 4
Dm
He took the world 600, the old Atlanta 5
Bb
Bristol, Richmond, Nashville,
F
Dm
The hotdogs laid it on him. They'd draft,
chart, and sweat.
Bb
But Fireball rolled a seven,
C
F
the kind that's hard to get.
Verse 5
F
He had the pole at Darlington; he
Bb
And he run away at Charlotte,
F
A slingshot sewed up Petty; he
Dm
was out in front real fast.
Bb
A checkered flag was in the bag; nobody
C
F
would get past.
Verse 6
F
He was flat out in that back shoot; only
Dm
3 laps from the start.
Bb
When he saw a yellow bumper
Dm
runnin' scared and lost it all.
Bb
C
A hush fell on that crowd; number
Verse 7
Bb
His old skidlid hangs in the hall,
F
the little chargers gone,
C
F
To save a friend he laid it on the line.
Bb
His old poncho is rust and bound,
F
but his memory still lives on.
C
F
Fireball rolled a seven every time.
C
F
Fireball rolled a seven every time.
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