Make It Count / Hillbilly Happy

Hillbilly Happy

Hindsight 2020, Vol. 3: Angelina

Sticks & Stones

In My Blood

When Time Didn't Fly

Lost Highway

Humble

Dough Boy’s rollin’, tires so high,
A lift kit that’s reaching for the sky.
The pills didn’t work, no blue little dreams,
So he cranked the diesel, and made it scream.
A cloud of smoke with a thundering roar,
He ain't compensating, no, not anymore.

He’s got no steel, and the axles bend—
A floppy truth he can’t defend.

Dough Boy drives with a dough-soft dong,
Rollin’ coal like nothin’s wrong.
His shaft don’t rise, but the chassis might,
Suspension compensates each night.

At the corner shop, he revs that beast,
With a V8 roar, he's the freakin' priest.
Shifting gears, blowing clouds of despair,
But he ain’t slowing, he’s breathing the air.
It’s more than just horsepower and torque,
It’s a symbol of might when things just don’t work.

Revving blind through smoke and bluster,
He’s got the heat, but can’t muster.

Dough Boy thunders down the street,
A monument to his limp deceit.
His manhood's made of crescent dough,
And no amount of torque will grow.

When the sun sets low and the trucks all around,
He’s the loudest on the block, shaking the ground.
A man of the moment, but inside he's hollow,
His truck’s his pride, the one thing he can follow.
Dough Boy, with the rolling coal mist,
A myth of manhood he can’t resist.

He’s not upright, but still he climbs—
The only height is axle-timed.

Dough Boy, flaccid king of smoke,
With girthless pride and piston poke.
No blood will surge, but diesel might,
He hauls his shame in broad daylight.

Dough Boy’s still rolling, tires to the sky,
In his lifted dream, he’s still flying high...

Dough Boy

I got a mullet like a possum tail,
Boots so loud they leave a diesel trail.
I sing ‘bout trucks, dogs, beer, and pain,
But dang ol’ radio won’t play my name!

I mailed my demo on a scratchy CD,
With a six-pack coupon and a selfie of me.
I’m better than Garth, Tim, and ol’ George Strait—
But that radio man won’t let me be great!

Play me, Jacob, I’m a honky-tonk flame
Hotter than a grill at a tailgate game!

I done tattooed “Nashville” on my chest,
Right under where my mama says, “God bless.”
I rhymed “beer” with “deer” and “heartache stew,”
That’s classic country—shoot, who knew?

I parked outside that station for a week,
Played ‘Freebird’ naked with a chew between me teeth.
But radio guys just stared through the blinds so cold,
Like my platinum dreams weren’t solid gold!

Play me, Jacob, I’m a honky-tonk flame
Hotter than a grill at a tailgate game!

So if you hear this, Jacob, you radio clown,
Know there’s a star in this town wearin’ the future  country crown!

Radio Star

The Cowboy (Small Texas Town)

BLOOD IN THE SADDLE, SMOKE IN THE SKY

A feel-good, genre-blending journey through the sounds of Southern rock, country, and folk. It's an eclectic mix that feels like a live jam session, with intricate guitar work, layered harmonies, and a laid-back, summery vibe. The songs are rich with storytelling, painting vivid pictures of life, love, and the open road. From upbeat, celebratory anthems perfect for a bonfire, to heartfelt, reflective ballads that tug at the heartstrings, the album maintains a consistent mood of laid-back authenticity. It's music that's both polished and raw, a perfect soundtrack for a long drive, a day at the beach, or just kicking back with friends.

I Never Knew

"Old Montana" is a country-rap anthem that blends gritty realism with heartfelt nostalgia, telling the story of a beloved land transformed by wealth, fantasy, and rising costs. Beneath the surface of designer boots and luxury ranches, the track reveals a deeper truth — that the real Montana still fights to survive in its people, its land, and its unbreakable spirit.

BLOOD IN THE SADDLE, SMOKE IN THE SKY

Kick & Colt

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