The roadhouse scene that Denny and the Jets expose us to is the one that we've always dreamed we belonged in. It's the one that we would throw it all away for. We'd be willing to scrape by, wondering how we were going to pay for the electricity this month, not giving a shit too much if we were drinking on an empty stomach, AGAIN. We could just cut loose and insert ourselves into this dreamland of honies and brown bottles.
It would be relatively great. Sure, there would be some less than ideal aspects of a life led that way, but we'd choose to look on the bright side. As long as we rolled with a bunch of buddies who believed in sharing rounds and getting over-served, the harder mornings that we'd find ourselves shaking out of would be alright. We could deal with anything, knowing we could sleep til noon or later. We could suspend all those concerns about needing gainful employment or health insurance if all of the fun girls that we were hanging out with were up for anything. You could work your whole life trying to get to a spot like this, where the possibilities were endless and most of the repercussions were still pretty magical.
Chris Denney, the lead singer for this wonderfully chugging, boozy band from Nashville, convey a fun-loving atmosphere of late nights where no one's going home until they get kicked out, jean jackets, cowboy boots, babes, beds and few regrets. The worst thing that happens here is when the babes decide that they want the relationship to change, when they want to reinvent themselves from the fun and crazy girls that they were when they all started messing around into someone that could be settled down with. Denney sings about the problem faced when they "used to fuck" and now all she wants to do is make love. He doesn't have much time for that. There's got to be a way around it, is the thought of the man delaying the inevitable. He'll do his best to protect his Valhalla for as long as he can.