When the lights go down
When you're stuck here in this town
With nowhere to go
So you escape through the radio
And you worked all week
To barely make ends meet
Well, I gotta a little cash burning holes in my pocket
Foot on the gas, taking off like a rocket
So Come on, come on,
Baby, I'm buying
I got enough to last us all night and
You got the kiss that tastes like honey
And I got a little beer money
Tonight, Tonight
Baby, we're drinkin';
Lets wake the town that never stops sleeping
You got the kiss that tastes like honey
And I got a little beer money
We can dance in the dark
Blow the speakers out of this car
Light it up, burn it down
Until the morning rolls around
In a field, where we can scream
Get away with almost anything
Yeah, every now and then you gotta raise a little hell
Hope we get lucky and stay out of jail
So Come on, come on,
Baby, I'm buying
I got enough to last us all night and
You got the kiss that tastes like honey
And I got a little beer money
Tonight, Tonight
Baby, we're drinkin';
Lets wake the town that never stops sleeping
You got the kiss that tastes like honey
And I got a little beer money
So Come on, come on,
Baby, I'm buying
I got enough to last us all night and
You got the kiss that tastes like honey
And I got a little beer money
Tonight, Tonight
Baby, we're drinkin';
Lets wake the town that never stops sleeping
You got the kiss that tastes like honey
And I got a little beer money
So come on, come on
Yeah, come on, come on
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Let's wake the town that never stops sleepin'
On the surface, “Beer Money” is another sonically-predictable, country drinking song, of which likely-alcoholic Toby Keith has given us plenty. But sift through that (not too deep) and you find frustrated small-town restlessness – a pleasantly uncommon theme for this genre.
Yeah, every now and then you gotta raise a little hell/Hope we get lucky and stay out of jail
Doing little to dispel the notion that all male country singers are concerned about is women and alcohol, Moore tries to forget the humdrum of his dead-end job with this anthemic TGIF-ode to the loose change that allows him to dance in the dark and scream in a field during the weekend.
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