[Verse 1] [Vocal: low-mid bari-tenor, rough-edged, lazy swagger; half-sung, half-sneered] Whiskey stains and neon signs, Every sinner's story rhymes. Cards are dealt and the dice don't lie, Prophets drink and testify. [Vocal: crooked grin; conversational, gritty] There's a preacher in the corner with a bottle in his hand, Swearing he can save your soul if you can pay the man. The bartender knows your secrets, the jukebox knows your name, And every fool who walks through that door Leaves here believing he's changed. [Chorus] [Vocal: full gang shout; ragged, rowdy, unapologetic] Raise your glass, let the truth ring loud, Barroom prophets preaching to the crowd. Every lie gets drowned in song, Every night we find out where we went wrong. [Vocal: gang response; bigger and rougher] Here's to the sinners, here's to the saints, Here's to the promises nobody keeps. We may be damned, but we ain't alone— Tonight this bar is holy ground. [Verse 2] [Vocal: gritty, loose swing; swaggering storytelling] Sawdust floor and a jukebox hymn, Faith gets traded for a shot of sin. Silver tongues and broken plans, Everybody's got salvation in their hands. [Vocal: sharper, amused contempt] There's a woman at the bar who's been married three times, Says the fourth one's coming when she gets the timing right. There's a man down at the end who's lost everything but pride, Still buying drinks for strangers Like he's got nothing left to hide. [Vocal: build toward the last line] And somewhere in the back room, Somebody's losing everything— But the band keeps playing Like it's Sunday morning again. [Chorus] [Vocal: full gang harmony; guitars answering each line] Raise your glass, let the truth ring loud, Barroom prophets preaching to the crowd. Every lie gets drowned in song, Every night we find out where we went wrong. [Vocal: shouted, increasingly rowdy] Here's to the sinners, here's to the saints, Here's to the fools who still tempt fate. We may be damned, but we ain't alone— Tonight this bar is holy ground. [Instrumental Break] [Bridge] [Vocal: bass and drums only; sly, almost spoken] If the truth won't set us free, Maybe whiskey holds the key. If heaven's got a door tonight, I hope they leave it open after last call. [Vocal: band crashes in; gang harmony, absolute conviction] We're the saints of the lost and found, Barroom prophets, holy ground. Raise that glass and shout it proud— Ain't no sermon gonna save us now! [Vocal: escalating gang shout] We've been baptized in cheap beer, We've been preaching through the smoke. We've been lying to ourselves all night, But hell, at least we know the joke. [Final Chorus] [Vocal: maximum swagger; ragged barroom choir] Raise your glass, let the truth ring loud, Barroom prophets preaching to the crowd. Every lie gets drowned in song, Every night we find out where we went wrong. [Vocal: massive gang response] Here's to the sinners, here's to the saints, Here's to the fools who still tempt fate. Here's to the lost who've finally been found— And every damn soul Still hanging around! [Vocal: full-throated, rough, shouted] We may be damned, but we ain't alone! Tonight this bar is holy ground! [Vocal: final repeated hook; band hits hard] Raise your glass! Let the truth ring loud! Raise your glass! Let the whole damn room shout! [Outro] [Vocal: shouted, ragged, fading into reverb] Barroom prophets! Sing it proud! [Vocal: gang response, distant] Sing it proud! [Vocal: final sustained shout] BARROOM PROPHETS!
