Press swarms, summer yellow jackets
Waiting for an exhausted driver to slip
Iconic is the tired look he saddles
āEverythingās greatā - there is nothing to admitĀ
However his crew chief prattles
Heāll drive how he needs - wants - and pulls
Tabs and corks in victory lane
You never know which rodeo you ride your last bull
A younger brother leaves a frame
Milliseconds to late - Atlanta down the drain
But Vegas is left brokenhearted
And Charlotte follows the refrain
Who is left now that heās departed?
Smoke never to rise from his carts and
Cars. A son and daughter, wife and brother
The world keeps them in hearts bled
Iconic; radioactive; each swear, scream, and mutter
Keselowskiās respect, and a million drunk lovers
Each redneckās bruised knuckles are for him
He has more than affection at his alter
How many miles in reverse has he driven?
How many pace cars tapped, drivers sent spinning?
Pounds of particulate from smoke heās sent up?
How many cups had he won and filled to the brim?
234 wins - sweet incense on tarmac erupts
A sacrifice acceptable to the Lord of Stock and Trucks
However bitter our loss, we can take comfort
Kannapolisā son has another friend above
Comfort, but no rest. There are more tracks to court
But no one else will sweet-talk Richmond more
only he had Bristol swooning when he stepped
There is a hall his name will reside; fame opens her doors
Search you may - there is no better soul to elect
To retire beside his brother at home, windswept
Every flyby rustles him, each vortex lifts him high
Legacy will not leave the living bereft
Rest in this thought, for a while
That memory never lets anyone truly die
Spectators, cheer a little more loudly
Weāll see him turn left again at Darlingtonās cry
Love him or hate him - he was NASCAR proudly
Before he left, he gave us another bow. See
Heās have fans faithfully roar than mourn devoutly
But despite it all I shed my tears for our Rowdy