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!”
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