Suits and Boots
Alex Wilson
Description
A high-energy country-rock shuffle that pits authenticity against corporate ambition. Driven by a twangy Telecaster, a stomping kick-snare groove, and punctuated by bright fiddle fills, the song builds to a raucous chorus perfect for a barroom singalong. The bridge offers a brief respite with banjo and upright bass before exploding into a crowd-pleasing full-band finale, brimming with rootsy swagger and blue-collar pride. The song explores the tension between artistic integrity and the allure of commercial success, championing the heart of a song over the pursuit of fame and fortune.
Lyrics
[Verse 1] Three phone calls ‘fore I finished my beer, Talkin’ percentages I don’t wanna hear. Y’all wearin’ ties while I’m scuffin’ these toes, Singin’ my truth down a gravel road. [Pre-Chorus] They’re pushin’ papers, I’m pushin’ songs, They got a clock, but I’ve got all night long. [Chorus] It’s suits and boots, boardroom versus barn, I don’t need no contract to strum this guitar. You chase the numbers, I’ll chase the truth, Worlds apart but we’re sharin’ the roof. Yeah, they got the ink, I got the roots— It’s a battle of the suits and boots. [Verse 2] They promise me spotlights, tour bus dreams, While I’m patchin’ my jeans with duct-tape seams. They’re talkin’ charts, I’m talkin’ dirt, They sellin’ brands, I’m singin’ hurt. [Pre-Chorus] They got the money, I got the crowd, One sings quiet, the other sings loud. [Chorus] It’s suits and boots, boardroom versus barn, I don’t need no contract to strum this guitar. You chase the numbers, I’ll chase the truth, Worlds apart but we’re sharin’ the roof. Yeah, they got the ink, I got the roots— It’s a battle of the suits and boots. [Bridge] One’s ridin’ elevators, one’s ridin’ dirt roads, One counts the profit, one counts the banjo. But maybe somewhere, there’s a deal in between, Where the heart of a song meets a big-city dream. [Guitar Solo] [Final Chorus] It’s suits and boots, both playin’ their part, But I’ll keep my name where I keep my heart. They chase the fame, I chase the proof, Can’t buy the soul of a mountain truth. Yeah, I ain’t for sale, I’m standin’ loose— Still stompin’ proud in these boots… While they’re polishin’ suits. [Outro] So pour me a coffee, y’all sip your wine, I’ll keep writin’ songs on my own damn time. Yeah, I'll keep writin' songs, keep speakin' my mind, One song at a time.