Nothing To See Here: “Country Crooner” (Part Ten)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-26)

 

 

After weeks of writing material and posting it online, with demo recordings occasionally adding to this creative experience, I had grown accustomed to having my work critiqued by T. Randall Squire, the notable record executive. I recognized that he had a keen sense of what would sell to listeners and fans around the nation. Yet as a wordsmith in a rural township of Ohio, I had little interest in playing the role of a jester in his court of public opinion. I simply worked at my desk throughout morning hours in my singlewide abode, and then adjourned to the front porch for chilled refreshments and salty snacks. But when my thoughts took a dark turn, after reading news reports of the day, I met with a forceful rebuke that was hot in my ears.

 

What I delivered on my personal blog was cryptic and deep.

 

Reaper

 

“A fortunate fade to black

The sorrow of a heart attack

Rendered on the morning news

Dispersal of chaotic views

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

War in the eastern lands

Soaring over burning sands

Oaths taken for revenge

Of the time, we know not when

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

Opponents take respective sides

Bolstered by strong allies

Conflicts registered in words

God and country, undeterred

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

Magic forces contemplate

Destruction in the Hormuz Strait

Ships at sea sing of when

Quiet will return again

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

Poverty is now maintained

Inner cities, outer lanes

Crumbling in the heat of day

Morticians feast in this melee

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

Jealous jokers do debates

Saviors on the scene too late

Blood and treasure, all for naught

No one dies if none are caught

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

An open window sucking air

If by chance you linger there

Caution is a holy word

Take care not to be disturbed

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

A thousand feet above the ground

Birds of prey still abound

Pointed at the looming sky

All face judgment, all will cry

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

A poem taught unto a child

Echoes in the afterwhile

Truths unspoken congregate

No route provided for escape

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

Helter skelter, knees will bend

When the games have reached their end

The darkening of a clouded morn

Listen closely, be forewarned

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

If I tell of my own sin

Will you love me once again?

I dare not take that step alone

Otherwise, that fault I own

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

A graying of the azure blue

A promise made, a promise true

I must turn my head and cough

Or face up to this horrid loss

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

Names are spoken, in the night

An incantation of delight

Witches brew, the cauldron hot

Until their potion spills the pot

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

None are fooled by this fine dance

All is left to a game of chance

Sitting at the theater’s edge

A dangle on the narrow ledge

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

If I fail to mention clear

The likelihood of finding fear

Gift me with forgiveness, please

Here I am, a humbled breed

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

Envision what cannot be seen

A shadow across the projection screen

In that whisper, much revealed

The sting of justice, wounds unhealed

The reaper comes

The reaper comes...”

 

Country Squire demanded a real-time conversation. Unfortunately, his plea to be heard came after I had already begun drinking, outside. The fresh air, golden sunshine, and alcohol had affected my senses, and self-discipline, with obvious inebriation. So, I was less than civilized in listening to his complaint.

 

“Boy, y’all have talent, I can say that without any reservations. That means ya need to use it rightly though, it’s not somethin’ that oughta be thrown around like popcorn! Now, maybe ya get a kick from writin’ these weird little poems about hard times, I don’t know. But if yer gonna do it, shape that mess into somethin’ workin’ folks can relate to! Don’t go off on a damn tangent and start soundin’ like some Goth or Emo freak of nature!”

 

I was impressed that he apparently had some familiarity with alternative forms of popular music. Yet bristled slightly at being chastised for exercising my artistic liberty.

 

“Sir, as I’ve said before in our conversations, I don’t follow a given path when at the keyboard. Or when strumming my acoustic guitar. I veer off course left and right, or up and down, as it suits the moment. My intent is never to adhere faithfully to guidelines of any sort...”

 

Squire snorted with a bullish and noisy flaring of his nostrils.

 

“DAMMIT RODNEY, YER A FINE MAKER OF COUNTRY MUSIC! DON’T SCREW THAT UP, OKAY?”

 

I laughed out loud, until my lungs were sore.

 

“Honestly, I’ve never been a particular fan of the genre. Though there are enough amateur performers in my family lineage that evoking that vibe isn’t difficult...”

 

My professional contact was enraged by this candid admission.

 

“NOT A FAN? THAT’S AMERICA, BOY! COUNTRY MUSIC IS AMERICAN MUSIC! COUNTRY MUSIC IS THE MUSIC OF REGULAR, DOWN-TO-EARTH, EVERYDAY PEOPLE! COUNTRY MUSIC IS PATRIOTIC, GOD-FEARING SWEETNESS FOR THE SOUL!”

 

I had to differ with his assessment.

 

“Perhaps it was at its origin point? I can’t say for sure. But certainly, that has changed. It’s big business now, slickly produced and overhyped, a synthetic mash of cornpone fed to the masses...”

 

My distant cohort began to grunt and groan as if he had reached the climax of a cardiac event.

 

“SYNTHETIC CORNPONE? GOD HELP ME, I’VE NEVER HEARD SUCH CRAZY TALK IN MY LIFE! Y’ALL TAKE THAT CRAP BACK! I WON’T SIT HERE AND ACCEPT THIS NONSENSE! WHATEVER YA WANNA CALL IT, THAT MUSIC SELLS! FOLKS STILL APPRECIATE A GOOD LOOKIN’ COWBOY IN A BIG HAT! OR A COWGIRL WITH BIG HAIR AND SHINY BOOTS! IT’S LIKE NASCAR OR PRO FOOTBALL, OR HUNTIN’ IN THE WOODS! PEOPLE RELATE TO THAT SOUND! THEY RELATE TO THAT PURE WAY OF LIVIN’ IN OUR GLORY LAND!”

 

I had to agree with his statement, even if sometimes my own oeuvre had moved in a contrarian direction. More than anything, I wanted to get back to my stash of cold beer.

 

“You’re right Mr. Squire, I get it. Forgive me for not always playing along...”

 

He relented at last, upon hearing my tone soften.

 

“Okay then, here’s the deal. You keep on scribblin’ out those blue-collar ditties, and when ya do, I’ll be right here, waitin’ to promote ‘em through my network! Do y’all get it, pardner? Settle down with the weird stuff, and play nice!”

 

I nodded while reaching for a drink.

 

“Yes, yes, I get it. Have a great day, friend!”

“Reaper”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-26)

 

 

A fortunate fade to black

The sorrow of a heart attack

Rendered on the morning news

Dispersal of chaotic views

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

War in the eastern lands

Soaring over burning sands

Oaths taken for revenge

Of the time, we know not when

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

Opponents take respective sides

Bolstered by strong allies

Conflicts registered in words

God and country, undeterred

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

Magic forces contemplate

Destruction in the Hormuz Strait

Ships at sea sing of when

Quiet will return again

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

Poverty is now maintained

Inner cities, outer lanes

Crumbling in the heat of day

Morticians feast in this melee

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

Jealous jokers do debates

Saviors on the scene too late

Blood and treasure, all for naught

No one dies if none are caught

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

An open window sucking air

If by chance you linger there

Caution is a holy word

Take care not to be disturbed

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

A thousand feet above the ground

Birds of prey still abound

Pointed at the looming sky

All face judgment, all will cry

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

A poem taught unto a child

Echoes in the afterwhile

Truths unspoken congregate

No route provided for escape

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

Helter skelter, knees will bend

When the games have reached their end

The darkening of a clouded morn

Listen closely, be forewarned

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

If I tell of my own sin

Will you love me once again?

I dare not take that step alone

Otherwise, that fault I own

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

A graying of the azure blue

A promise made, a promise true

I must turn my head and cough

Or face up to this horrid loss

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

Names are spoken, in the night

An incantation of delight

Witches brew, the cauldron hot

Until their potion spills the pot

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

None are fooled by this fine dance

All is left to a game of chance

Sitting at the theater’s edge

A dangle on the narrow ledge

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

If I fail to mention clear

The likelihood of finding fear

Gift me with forgiveness, please

Here I am, a humbled breed

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

Envision what cannot be seen

A shadow across the projection screen

In that whisper, much revealed

The sting of justice, wounds unhealed

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

The reaper comes

The reaper comes

 

Nobody Reads This Page: “Econoline Van”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-26)

 

 

One of the pleasures associated with retirement is not having to keep a regular schedule. I take advantage of this liberty whenever possible, and use it to propel myself into creative projects that take shape at any and all hours of the day. After a morning routine of coffee and some light breakfast, I sometimes sit at my desk in the home office, and find myself relapsing into a lazy mood of slumber. These brief interludes are particularly restful, and often arouse bursts of inspiration that are productive and useful.

 

A recent example of this phenomenon came as I dozed in my chair with its adjustable frame set to recline. I snored and nodded off while dreaming about being at the wheel of a vehicle from yonder days, one bought in the year of 1987. A beastly relic that still lingers in memory as one of the more unique conveyances ever to inhabit my driveway.

 

Friends called it Godzilla. Big, ugly, and green!

 

During that distant era, I was working for a supermarket in town, on their grocery crew. This came after a stint of 24 months at a local department store, and was, for a time, split with a side job at the Kent State University branch in a nearby village. I earned a meager, hourly wage for my labor, but made up for that deficiency by staying perpetually active throughout the work week. My schedule normally encompassed seven days on duty, between employers. When that yielded the chance to work all of those hours in one place, I took it eagerly. My goal was to help support the family, and save funds for a better mule-on-wheels.

 

I had been driving a Chevrolet Chevette, which originally seemed thrifty and dependable enough to carry me forward for an extended period of time. Yet upon reaching the age of only six years, it had all but disintegrated. The floorboards rusted out, suspension components shattered, and eventually, one of the pistons cracked. I actually drove it on three of four cylinders, briefly, but knew that this act was tempting fate.

 

A brother-in-law suggested attending an auction site in western Pennsylvania with which he was familiar. This experience turned out to be quite entertaining, as it was conducted at a rural property where cars were driven, in rapid succession, through a barn where the auctioneer and participants had been situated. The variety of vehicles literally caused my eyes to bulge. Some were vintage artifacts, with an obvious value for collectors. Others seemed suited for everyday use, without much concern over damaging their common engines or bodywork. But unfortunately, I had little money to spend. The aforementioned econobox I had owned took most of my income to afford, through a bank loan. There was little left in my wallet to start over.

 

I had no choice, however. Some kind of solution had to be found.

 

As the regular event was winding down, a 1972 Ford Econoline E-300 appeared, wearing a sturdy shade of military paint. The auctioneer boasted that it had served as a delivery hauler for a newspaper company in Erie. I could tell that it had been outfitted with spartan amenities. There were only two seats in the front. It carried the 302 V-8, a three-speed manual transmission, and an AM radio. A doghouse sat between the driver and passenger, to cover its powerplant. The van was huge, plain, and seemed to run well, if nothing else.

 

Bidding on the Econoline did not take off at an energetic pace. Attendees were lethargic in showing interest. A purchase price of $50.00 started the proceedings. Then $100.00, $150.00, and $200.00. Everyone held their breath as the fellow in charge looked around his lair, narrowed his gaze, and prepared to declare the olive-drab Ford a sold item in his queue. But some pinprick of courage caused my right arm to flinch, and reach for the roof.

 

“I’ll bid $250.00 on that thing! Let me buy it right now, I’ve got that much in cash!”

 

The other buyers looked at me as if I had lost my mental faculties. But the auctioneer banged his gavel on the rostrum.

 

“SOLD FOR THE PRICE OF $250.00! GET IT OUT OF HERE, KIDDO! GOOD LUCK!”

 

My wife was very quiet on the way back to Ohio. There were no interior lights functioning, so we made the journey in near-darkness. All I could see was a glow of headlights, peering into the void of night. Despite having no plates attached, I drove all the way home with no attention paid by the police.

 

The Econoline represented an enormous change from my little Chevrolet. I soon discovered that steering the wheeled barge, with no power assist onboard, was a chore. I likened it to driving a school bus. The mechanical range was low enough that it could pull away even if mistakenly placed into third gear. Yet would only run about 80 mph with its accelerator pedal to the floor. The van was a workhorse designed for carrying heavy loads.

 

It did not return great numbers for fuel economy. And when the temperatures began to plummet, I realized that its heater core was shot. This meant scraping the windshield as I navigated. I would sometimes drive home from work on winter days with my head out the window, for a clearer view of the road ahead.

 

Since the interior was bare, I installed a matting of indoor-outdoor carpet as a comfort measure. I found an oscillating fan which fit on the dashboard, and it helped during the summer. And a toggle switch worked to fix the backup lights which did not function for some reason. I installed a budget stereo system, and put speaker enclosures in the back. My father-in-law contributed a wooden toolbox, which fit behind the seats.

 

The van had lots of cargo space, much like a pickup truck with a fiberglass cap installed. Only as an afterthought did I realize there was no spare tire. But I figured that the risk of running around without that needed accessory was less of a worry than pushing my Chevette on three cylinders, with smoke billowing from its tailpipe.

 

I drove the Econoline for an entire year. Then sold it to my younger brother for $300.00.

 

In the interim, I had saved enough to purchase a blue, 1979 F-150 pickup, at our local dealership. That choice was one that bettered my situation greatly. It had four-wheel drive, a bench seat, and plenty of hauling capability. And it did not cause my wife to have stomach cramps when I was out on the road.

 

Still, Godzilla the van remains in my thoughts. When sleeping restfully at night, or even when lounging in the chair at my desk.

Nothing To See Here: “Country Crooner” (Part Nine)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-26)

 

 

Generally, I embrace a certain creative streak for so long as it holds my interest, and then move onward to the next phase with respect for the nature of proper timing in effect. As it is said in Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, ‘To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.’ During my formative years as a professional scribe in the newspaper business, I learned that this grand metronome is always ticking away. Keeping a rhythm in place that may be joyous, or sorrowful, but is always the cause of life to go forward. Even when I sometimes protested at its insistent stewardship, I would always conclude with hindsight that the direction given had been on point and meaningful.

 

Reflecting on that past history, I lingered in the artistic groove sired by T. Randall Squire and his record label.

 

Late on a Friday afternoon, I began to compose yet another working-class set of lyrics, for possible use as a foundation for more recording efforts with my flat-top, acoustic guitar.

 

All Things Must Pass

 

“A guy down the street got caught driving drunk

It was just another story, living life in a funk

Getting too seedy and slow to the pitch

The mirror reflected a poor son-of-a-bitch

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Heard the sirens scream ‘bout a crash down the road

A neighbor told me that cars were being towed

And I’m sitting here just working on a drink

Glad and content with living right on the brink

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

The seasons change from winter white to gold

Meanwhile I’m lonely and growing old

I never expected to find a trophy for the win

But it’s all come down to tossing bags in the trash bin

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Been married twice, with both vows stalled

I did what I did, when the moment called

The bottom line there, was a bankruptcy case

Standing at the courthouse for a slap in the face

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

Every now and then I’ll play guitar on the stoop

Singing songs of heartache and circling the loop

It’s a proud story for a working man’s kind

The sort of report that I’ve always kept in mind

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Some of the people that live on my street

Seem to believe that they can compete

With bankrollers and hustlers that have skills for sale

But when the bell is sounded, they’re kicked in the tail

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

I don’t believe that folks fed up with trickery

Have a real chance at escaping their misery

It’s part of the game, rules written in chalk

When the rain comes, there’s a mess on the sidewalk

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Kids have it better, they imagine their fun

Adults get to settle debts, at the point of a gun

But I won’t get worried as robber-barons barge in

By then I’ll be drunk enough to greet them with a grin

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

The silliest refrain is one learned from a fool

Who’s made a career of following society’s rules

Napkins in place, folded neatly and clean

Glad to be a cog in the money machine

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

You might think my attitude sounds hard and unkind

But I’ve lived a good life on cornbread and moonshine

I won’t feel guilty for making ends meet

And staying on the good side of those keeping the beat

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

Snake flags and rebel rags are a common snare

Where shopping at the dollar store is a family affair

Counting up pennies for a bottom-shelf kick

Drinking Beam’s Eight-Star or Ancient Age by the crick

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

I don’t let it jam me while pondering the pall

Of smoke from a trailer with a hole in the wall

They’ll sweep up the ashes, empty and clear

By tomorrow morning, another singlewide will appear

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

My family is not one with royal inclinations

I have no connection with the heads of foreign nations

I’m a blue-collar bum, in the eyes of a crowd

And that keeps me humble, so far as allowed

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

I’ve gone pretty far on the fumes from a stovepipe

And pushed when I had to, for reaching what’s right

Comforts were few when I entered the scene

But that chill in the air toughened my genes

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

A guy down the street got caught driving drunk

Wife showed him the door, he’s living out of a car trunk

Her wedding ring sailed from the deck to their yard

Now he’s eating bologna, fried up in lard

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

I’ll give thanks to Jesus, though some are surprised

It’s never my habit to take a slip to the downside

I’m grateful for blessings, even when they are slim

Every day above the dirt I’ll dedicate to him

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass...”

 

The images here were taken directly from what I had experienced during a previous day, while enjoying fresh air and cold beverages, on my front porch. I reckoned that each recollection would mesh neatly with the others, until a useful tapestry had been woven from those brief, descriptive verses. But instead of attempting to croon out a demo version that would be posted on YouTube, I simply offered the yield in a spoken format, via my personal blog.

 

I had in mind the writer Charles Bukowski. I guessed that he might endorse this effort as worthy and valid.

 

That shift in strategy must have caused my entertainment contact to hold his breath for a moment, and rest the cigar he held gingerly over a gold ashtray, on the desk. The reaction from Country Squire came quickly. He sent a howl of indignation to my Messenger app, on the cell phone.

 

“WHAT’RE Y’ALL TRYIN’ TA DO PARDNER? BREAK THE CHAIN WE’VE HAD GOIN’? KEEP YER PRODUCT COMIN’ BOY, I’VE GOT RADIO STATIONS LINED UP FROM CALIFORNIA TA MAINE! THEY’RE ALL HOT FER NEW TRACKS FROM MR. RODNEY DEAN! HE’S A STAR I’M TELLIN’ YA! A STAR BURNIN’ BRIGHT AND FLYIN’ HIGH!”

 

 

 

 

“All Things Must Pass”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-26)

 

 

A guy down the street got caught driving drunk

It was just another story, living life in a funk

Getting too seedy and slow to the pitch

The mirror reflected a poor son-of-a-bitch

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Heard the sirens scream ‘bout a crash down the road

A neighbor told me that cars were being towed

And I’m sitting here just working on a drink

Glad and content with living right on the brink

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

The seasons change from winter white to gold

Meanwhile I’m lonely and growing old

I never expected to find a trophy for the win

But it’s all come down to tossing bags in the trash bin

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Been married twice, with both vows stalled

I did what I did, when the moment called

The bottom line there, was a bankruptcy case

Standing at the courthouse for a slap in the face

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

Every now and then I’ll play guitar on the stoop

Singing songs of heartache and circling the loop

It’s a proud story for a working man’s kind

The sort of report that I’ve always kept in mind

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Some of the people that live on my street

Seem to believe that they can compete

With bankrollers and hustlers that have skills for sale

But when the bell is sounded, they’re kicked in the tail

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

I don’t believe that folks fed up with trickery

Have a real chance at escaping their misery

It’s part of the game, rules written in chalk

When the rain comes, there’s a mess on the sidewalk

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Kids have it better, they imagine their fun

Adults get to settle debts, at the point of a gun

But I won’t get worried as robber-barons barge in

By then I’ll be drunk enough to greet them with a grin

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

The silliest refrain is one learned from a fool

Who’s made a career of following society’s rules

Napkins in place, folded neatly and clean

Glad to be a cog in the money machine

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

You might think my attitude sounds hard and unkind

But I’ve lived a good life on cornbread and moonshine

I won’t feel guilty for making ends meet

And staying on the good side of those keeping the beat

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

Snake flags and rebel rags are a common snare

Where shopping at the dollar store is a family affair

Counting up pennies for a bottom-shelf kick

Drinking Beam’s Eight-Star or Ancient Age by the crick

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

I don’t let it jam me while pondering the pall

Of smoke from a trailer with a hole in the wall

They’ll sweep up the ashes, empty and clear

By tomorrow morning, another singlewide will appear

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

My family is not one with royal inclinations

I have no connection with the heads of foreign nations

I’m a blue-collar bum, in the eyes of a crowd

And that keeps me humble, so far as allowed

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

I’ve gone pretty far on the fumes from a stovepipe

And pushed when I had to, for reaching what’s right

Comforts were few when I entered the scene

But that chill in the air toughened my genes

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

 

A guy down the street got caught driving drunk

Wife showed him the door, he’s living out of a car trunk

Her wedding ring sailed from the deck to their yard

Now he’s eating bologna, fried up in lard

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

I’ll give thanks to Jesus, though some are surprised

It’s never my habit to take a slip to the downside

I’m grateful for blessings, even when they are slim

Every day above the dirt I’ll dedicate to him

Life comes at you fast

All things must pass

Nothing To See Here: “Country Crooner” (Part Eight)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-26)

 

 

The promotional decision of T. Randall Squire to label my song as having been created by a cowboy character named Rodney Dean helped to preserve the anonymity I enjoyed at Evergreen Estates. No one guessed that the twangy vocalization on their radio had been provided by someone in our rural neighborhood. Thus, I was able to continue sitting on my front porch in the afternoon, enjoying adult refreshments. A habit that kept me emotionally stable and feeling satisfied with my own existence.

 

I guessed that the accounting department at my contact’s record label would be stingy with royalty payments. But instead, the funds I received via postal mail were generous. Enough that I had to reconfigure my household budget plan. Had I been a younger, more physically able fellow, there might have been a temptation to travel, invest money, or reward myself with expensive toys. Yet none of those options won out, in the end. I simply helped members of my family tend to their own needs. While saving what I could, for when leaner times returned.

 

That conservative outlook was deeply ingrained into my personal DNA.

 

Though I had intended to move along toward other writing projects in the home office, another earthy sort of anthem flowed impulsively from the keyboard, as I pondered my good fortune. I let the muse direct my course, independently. The yield of that artistic benevolence came in the form of a potential jukebox favorite, in-the-making.

 

Drinking My Beer

 

“There’s war in Middle Eastern lands, that I cannot pronounce

And conflicts ‘round the neighborhood, in every trailer house

It’s hard to make enough to pay the bills that I retain

But one thing keeps me going that I don’t need to explain

I’ve got a stash that’s cooling down, inside my family fridge

And it will be there waiting when I’m done working my shift

When the world is spinning wild, from a fateful flash of fear

I’ll be outside in the yard just, drinking my beer

 

I’m not concerned with many things, least of all my name

My reputation long ago got muddied up with shame

I’m a humble man without the things on which trophies are made

But that effect don’t worry me, I’ll be living just the same

I built my homestead with bare hands, and a back put to the task

I worked my way up from the ground, had no favors to ask

When the kingdom comes, I’ll be a sinner in arrears

Hoping the Lord will join me here, just drinking my beer

 

You might think it funny that I sound so unconcerned

Not at all inclined to mourn the bridges I have burned

Right, wrong, or indifferent, I accepted it all as mine

Those scales of justice evened out, at the end of time

I mean the words I say, of that there is no doubt

And if you need a friend believe, I won’t be stepping out

I’ve done my time in darkness, now it’s for the light I cheer

When you want to find me I’ll be, drinking my beer

 

If I felt more blessed by luck, I might have played to win

And spun the wheel of fortune till my shoe-leather was wearing thin

But I am nothing more than a member of the crew

I show up early for my job, and keep on pushing through

I never thought it special, to answer a call to work

Everyone has their place, from a doctor to a clerk

It’s the union of those people that play the songs we hear

And when that gig is over I’ll be, drinking my beer

 

God gave me the breath of life, and can take it all away

I know that he runs the clock and I’m, glad to be saved

The worries of famous folk don’t concern me in the least

All I need is a chicken dinner, fried up in bacon grease

I’ll feed my heart on kinship and the pride of freedom, fine

I’m content with my position, as a worker on the line

If you seek a better life, I think we’ve got it here

Don’t go chasing chance, just join me drinking beer

 

A loving wife and a pickup truck, for me that is enough

A roof over our heads and a shed to store our stuff

Children playing in the fields and a Bible by the bed

All those things matter more than a crown upon my head

I come from a mountain brood, raised among the pines

The descendants of pioneers, from another time

I’m proud to say their sacrifices made it plainly clear

That the best way I can toast them is by, drinking my beer

 

When my eyes are closed at last, I won’t be sad at all

The seasons come and go, spring and summer to the fall

Hair turns gray and bones are bent, but not without a cause

Forgive me if this fine young lad now looks like Santa Claus

I’ve had a good run through the hills, a horseback ride for fun

With a keen sense of direction, right toward the setting sun

When I finally get there, without shedding a tear

I’ll sit with friends in eternity just, drinking my beer...”

 

As with my earlier composition, I recorded a rough take while plucking on an acoustic guitar. The audio quality was far from superior, but caught the miminalist inflection that I had intended. It had the resonance of a hillbilly stomp, captured amid bales of hay in a barn.

 

Sheepishly, I posted it on the YouTube site. There was little doubt in my mind that Country Squire would find a way to reinvent it as another modern classic by his mysterious champion crooner, Mr. Dean.

 

A week or two later, the track reverberated from my cell phone, as I had a cold brew on the bench.

 

“Yes sir, we’ve got another hot hit for y’all, here on WKKY in Geneva! It’s our new friend Rodney, back with another blue-collar serenade! Saddle up everybody! This is a world premiere, right here! Never fear, our good ol’ boy is drinking his beer!”

 

 

“Drinking My Beer”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-26)

 

 

There’s war in Middle Eastern lands, that I cannot pronounce

And conflicts ‘round the neighborhood, in every trailer house

It’s hard to make enough to pay the bills that I retain

But one thing keeps me going that I don’t need to explain

I’ve got a stash that’s cooling down, inside my family fridge

And it will be there waiting when I’m done working my shift

When the world is spinning wild, from a fateful flash of fear

I’ll be outside in the yard just, drinking my beer

 

I’m not concerned with many things, least of all my name

My reputation long ago got muddied up with shame

I’m a humble man without the things on which trophies are made

But that effect don’t worry me, I’ll be living just the same

I built my homestead with bare hands, and a back put to the task

I worked my way up from the ground, had no favors to ask

When the kingdom comes, I’ll be a sinner in arrears

Hoping the Lord will join me here, just drinking my beer

 

You might think it funny that I sound so unconcerned

Not at all inclined to mourn the bridges I have burned

Right, wrong, or indifferent, I accepted it all as mine

Those scales of justice evened out, at the end of time

I mean the words I say, of that there is no doubt

And if you need a friend believe, I won’t be stepping out

I’ve done my time in darkness, now it’s for the light I cheer

When you want to find me I’ll be, drinking my beer

 

If I felt more blessed by luck, I might have played to win

And spun the wheel of fortune till my shoe-leather was wearing thin

But I am nothing more than a member of the crew

I show up early for my job, and keep on pushing through

I never thought it special, to answer a call to work

Every one has their place, from a doctor to a clerk

It’s the union of those people that play the songs we hear

And when that gig is over I’ll be, drinking my beer

 

God gave me the breath of life, and can take it all away

I know that he runs the clock and I’m, glad to be saved

The worries of famous folk don’t concern me in the least

All I need is a chicken dinner, fried up in bacon grease

I’ll feed my heart on kinship and the pride of freedom, fine

I’m content with my position, as a worker on the line

If you seek a better life, I think we’ve got it here

Don’t go chasing chance, just join me drinking beer

 

A loving wife and a pickup truck, for me that is enough

A roof over our heads and a shed to store our stuff

Children playing in the fields and a Bible by the bed

All those things matter more than a crown upon my head

I come from a mountain brood, raised among the pines

The descendants of pioneers, from another time

I’m proud to say their sacrifices made it plainly clear

That the best way I can toast them is by, drinking my beer

 

When my eyes go closed at last, I won’t be sad at all

The seasons come and go, spring and summer to the fall

Hair turns gray and bones are bent, but not without a cause

Forgive me if this fine young lad now looks like Santa Claus

I’ve had a good run through the hills, a horseback ride for fun

With a keen sense of direction, right toward the setting sun

When I finally get there, without shedding a tear

I’ll sit with friends in eternity just, drinking my beer