Automatic Stroker

Artisficial,Key turn—fuel prime—oil pressure good.

Automatic. Stroker. Let’s ride.

Automatic stroker—heart like a V8,

Redline faith, I don’t ever downshift fate.

Auto on the box but the build is pro,

Bored and stroked, watch the horsepower grow.

Automatic stroker—pull like a freight,

Torque hit early, then it multiplies late.

From pit lane pain to the podium glow—

I’m bored, stroked, tuned… now watch me go.

Block got sleeved, I survived those knocks,

Failure was grit that I turned to rocks.

Crank throw longer, displacement up,

Big lungs breathe when the boost comes up.

Fuel map clean like a suit at court,

Timing advanced like a passport stamp.

I don’t stall out when the road gets short,

I just gap whole lanes with a lamp-post champ.

They talk rev limit—mine’s faith on high,

I been forged in heat—no cast, no lie.

Rods talk metal, pistons sing,

Every stroke writes lines when the camshafts swing.

Automatic stroker—heart like a V8,

Redline faith, I don’t ever downshift fate.

Auto on the box but the build is pro,

Bored and stroked, watch the horsepower grow.

Automatic stroker—pull like a freight,

Torque hit early, then it multiplies late.

From pit lane pain to the podium glow—

I’m bored, stroked, tuned… now watch me go.

Dyno day numbers make the doubt turn pale,

I’m a slip on the tree with a hook that sails.

Started in a garage with a parts bin prayer,

Now I spool whole dreams with a cold-air stare.

Octane high like my discipline rate,

93 faith, 100 proof grace.

Clutch? I could manual the weight I lift—

But auto on lock ’cause the shifts hit swift.

Every setback = gasket replaced,

Every leak found = blueprint laced.

Pressure makes power—ask any block,

I thread every bolt with a promise of stock.

Oil warm, roads long—

Hear that cam lope hum my song.

No more smoke from broken gears—

Just polished chrome and vanished fears.

From misfire nights to a balanced spin,

From hand-me-down rims to a wind-tunnel grin.

I ported the pain, CNC’d the doubt,

Flow rate doubled when I let truth out.

Headers sing freedom, mid-pipe roars,

Quarter mile life with eternal tours.

Track light drops and the world goes mute—

ET slips truth in a timeslip suit.

So if they ask how I climbed that slope?

Say: longer stroke, unbreakable hope.

Auto on faith, manual on grind—

Either way, I leave ’em all behind.

Automatic stroker—heart like a V8,

Redline faith, I don’t ever downshift fate.

Auto on the box but the build is pro,

Bored and stroked, watch the horsepower grow.

Automatic stroker—pull like a freight,

Torque hit early, then it multiplies late.

From pit lane pain to the podium glow—

Bored, stroked, tuned… now watch me go.

Idle steady… AFR perfect…

Artisficial™—built not bought.