Two-inch inseam! Olive green! More confidence than you've ever seen! Sun comes up, thighs come out— THAT'S WHAT SILKIES ARE ALL ABOUT! [Band kicks in] [Verse 1] Zero-five and half awake, Formation waiting by the gate, Skivvy shirt and running shoes, And barely enough shorts to cover you. Government-issued sex appeal, At least that's how we fucking feel, Whole platoon with legs on show— Where the rest of our shorts went, nobody knows. They're thin as hell and twice as light, Ride a little higher every mile, Civilian shorts come to your knees— FUCK THAT SHIT, OUR THIGHS NEED BREEZE! [Pre-Chorus] Short enough to cause concern, High enough to make heads turn, Call 'em stupid, we don't care— FREEDOM NEEDS A LITTLE AIR! [Chorus] SILKIES! SILKIES! SKY'S OUT, THIGHS OUT! Two-inch inseam, That's what freedom's all about! SILKIES! SILKIES! Let those motherfuckers ride! Why the hell would God make quads IF WE'RE SUPPOSED TO KEEP 'EM INSIDE?! Soft and breezy, barely there, Freedom blowing everywhere! Call 'em ugly, we don't care— MY BOYS NEED ROOM AND THEY NEED AIR! [Verse 2] In our heads the ladies love 'em, Every thigh's a work of art, Strutting like we're God's own gift— Confidence is off the chart. We think every woman's staring, Watching every step we take, Like a hundred pounds of sex appeal Got stuffed in something lingerie-shaped. Then my wife says, “We're going out,” I grab my keys and head on down, She takes one look and points upstairs— “GO PUT SOME FUCKING PANTS ON NOW!” But Silkies on means pants are gone, That's been the rule all along, She says, “We're going somewhere nice!” THEN THESE ARE THE NICE ONES, HON! [Chorus] SILKIES! SILKIES! SKY'S OUT, THIGHS OUT! Two-inch inseam, That's what freedom's all about! SILKIES! SILKIES! Let those motherfuckers ride! Why the hell would God make quads IF WE'RE SUPPOSED TO KEEP 'EM INSIDE?! Soft and breezy, barely there, Freedom blowing everywhere! Call 'em ugly, we don't care— MY BOYS NEED ROOM AND THEY NEED AIR! [Verse 3] Wear 'em lounging, wear 'em drinking, Wear 'em damn near anywhere, They're technically our PT shorts— But we treat 'em like underwear. Cut the grass? SILKIES. Grab the mail? SILKIES. Quick beer run? SILKIES. Neighbors staring? FUCK 'EM. Saturday around the house, Sunday morning on the couch, Trash cans gotta hit the curb? SILKIES GET THE FUCKING WORD! Twenty years can come and go, Hair gets gray and knees get slow, But somewhere in that dresser drawer— THE SAME GREEN PAIR SURVIVED THE WAR! [Bridge — melodic guitars, drums keep driving] Dress blues got tradition, Alphas got their class, But nothing says United States Marine— Like shorts barely covering your ass. No ribbons and no medals, No starch and no salute, Just pale-ass thighs and confidence AND A PAIR OF RUNNING SHOES! They tried to leave 'em in the past, But legends never really die— You can take the Marine outta Silkies... SEMPER FI AND FREE THE THIGHS! [Final Chorus] SILKIES! SILKIES! SKY'S OUT, THIGHS OUT! Two-inch inseam, That's what freedom's all about! SILKIES! SILKIES! Let those motherfuckers ride! Why the hell would God make quads IF WE'RE SUPPOSED TO KEEP 'EM INSIDE?! Soft and breezy! BARELY THERE! Marine Core thunder! EVERYWHERE! Wife says, “Pants!” WE DON'T CARE! MY BOYS NEED ROOM AND THEY NEED AIR! [Outro — riff speeds up] Too short! DON'T CARE! Too tight! DON'T CARE! Whole neighborhood can see your thighs! GODDAMN RIGHT! Olive green! Two inches high! SEMPER FI AND FREE THE THIGHS! SILKIES! [Final chord]
