[Intro] (Fast, blazing chicken-pickin' Telecaster over a roaring 2-step train beat and rolling barrelhouse piano) (Spoken baritone chuckle) Listen up, y'all. A polite little nod at the airport don't buy a round. If the man wore combat boots, pull out your wallet... or drop your top. Let’s go! [Verse 1] Saw an old boy parked on the corner stool, Vietnam hat, breaking every barroom rule. Some cat in a polo walked up neat and tight, Said, “Thank you for your service,” and stepped to the right. Didn't offer up a nickel, he didn't buy a round, Just patted his shoulder and looked at the ground. Well, words are cheap as water in a ditch, Time to flip the honky-tonk gratitude switch! [Pre-Chorus] (Snare drum builds rapidly, screaming pedal steel slide) Don't just hit him with a five-second speech, Put some cash or some skin within his reach! [Chorus] (Maximum explosive volume, roaring guitars, rowdy gang shout) Don’t just say thank you, buy the man a beer! Slide a double shot of bourbon till he grins ear-to-ear! Pick up the tab on the chicken-fried steak, Pay for every single biscuit that he wants to break! And if you really wanna honor what he gave for the flag, Show a little southern pride, let the good times brag— Girls, lift up that shirt, give that soldier a view, Now that’s what I call real American gratitude! (Gang shout: "Bottoms up, tops off!") [Verse 2] (Fast 2-step groove resumes, walking bassline) He spent six long winters in the mud and the sand, Holding down the perimeter in a foreign land. He didn’t freeze his tail off in forty-pound gear Just to watch you drink a cocktail while he needs a beer! Waitress brought a cheeseburger, told him, "Hold the check, Every dime in this diner’s coming straight from our deck. "Then Susie from the salon made a hell of a pass—She flashed him them beauties and he almost dropped his glass! [Pre-Chorus] (Snare roll, heavy guitar chug) A bumper sticker doesn't mean a damn thing, Give him cold hard drinks and a honky-tonk fling! [Chorus] (Maximum explosive volume, roaring guitars, rowdy gang shout) Don’t just say thank you, buy the man a beer! Slide a double shot of bourbon till he grins ear-to-ear! Pick up the tab on the chicken-fried steak, Pay for every single biscuit that he wants to break! And if you really wanna honor what he gave for the flag, Show a little southern pride, let the good times brag— Girls, lift up that shirt, give the soldier a view, Now that’s what I call real American gratitude! [Guitar Solo] (Blazing fast, frantic Telecaster trade-offs with unhinged piano runs and pedal steel) [Bridge] (Halftime groove breakdown, heavy kick pulse, spoken baritone) (Chuckles) Hey darlin', he fought for that view... don't be shy now! (Full drum roll launches back into double-time!) [Chorus] (Full throttle, wall of sound, rowdy gang vocals) Don’t just say thank you, buy the man a beer! Slide a double shot of bourbon till he grins ear-to-ear! Pick up the tab on the chicken-fried steak, Pay for every single biscuit that he wants to break! And if you really wanna honor what he gave for the flag, Show a little southern pride, let the good times brag— Girls, lift up that shit, let them beauties fly! Yeah, that’s what I call real American gratitude! [Outro] (Driving 2-step kicks into overdrive, shrieking Telecaster bends) Get the man a shot! Pick up the ticket! Let him see those twins! (Big crashing finish on an E-major chord with clinking beer glasses, raucous cheering, and a barroom whistle)
