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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