Stopped at a little roadside diner
Somewhere off I-10
And I told the waitress I was only passing
Through

She flew an F-18 in the Persian Gulf
Her eyes were narrow
And every so often I thought I was getting
Through

She watched her wingman go down
Over Al Basrah
And every so often I thought I was getting
Through
To her

She knew a good man when she saw ‘em
And so passed me by
She watched until I’d walked
Right out the door

And every so often I thought I was getting
Through