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#country  #countrymusic  #countryrock 

[Verse 1]
Midnight gravel under Goodyears hummin’ slow,
Firefly lanterns in the corn rows start to glow.
Card deck sittin’ on the dash, queen of hearts in hand—
But I’ve never been the kind to play what dealers planned.
Boot heels tap the rhythm on an old truck door,
You laugh like creek-water hittin’ red dirt shore.
Back-road breeze smells of diesel, sweet alfalfa hay;
Girl, the moon’s beggin’ us to wander, not to stay.
[Chorus]
Let’s roll where the -- whip poor wills cry,
Kill the headlights, let the stars testify.
Slide off the lane to that rusted river gate,
Turn the dial till we find a Merle Haggard tape.
If daybreak still feels like home—
I’ll shift us back down that ridge-top road,
But if your heart hates sleepin’ alone—
We’ll waltz ’til the rooster crows.
[Verse 2]
You trace constellations on my flannel sleeve,
Talk of hometown rumors you can’t wait to leave.
I ain’t promisin’ a chapel, diamonds, or a vow—
Just porch-swing futures carved somewhere down the line.
Moonshine kisses taste of peaches, corn, and sin,
Steel-string echoes ripple low across your grin.
Tailgate blanket, checkered quilt, crickets keepin’ time;
Two renegade hearts in the clover, barely tow’n the line.
[Chorus]
Let’s roll where the -- whip poor wills cry,
Kill the headlights, let the stars testify.
Slide off the lane to that rusted river gate,
Turn the dial till we find a Merle Haggard tape.
If daybreak still feels like home—
I’ll shift us back down that ridge-top road,
But if your heart hates sleepin’ alone—
We’ll waltz ’til the rooster crows.
[Bridge]
When dawn slings thin arrows through the cedar haze,
We’ll toast to that morning sunrise with creek cold praise.
Laughing at our boot prints looping circles in the dew—
No one but the 
ole
 cow will ever have a clue.
[Final Chorus]
So let’s roll where the whip-poor-wills cry,
Daylight’s jealous but it can’t deny—
Two silhouettes dancin’ by a truck-bed glow,
Merle still croonin’ on the radio.
If Monday calls us back home—
We’ll promise “next Friday” before we go,
’Cause when your wild heart rhymes with my own—
You and me own that back-road show.
[Outro]
Tailpipes whisper, crickets fade,
Moonshine tailgate serenade.

Borrowed Skies, Stolen Nights

If you like the music please share & subscribe, thanks!

https://youtu.be/zYXLOichZ6U
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https://music.apple.com/us/artist/the-artificial-home-wreckers/1787896253
https://theartificialhomewreckers.bandcamp.com/
https://theartificialhomewreckers.com/

#country  #countrymusic  #countryrock 

[Verse 1]
They said, “File off your edges, son,
Trade your plow for city fun.”
But this old truck still rattles proud
On back-road dust where corn’s allowed.
I’d rather pick a dobro slide
Than chase a neon billboard ride;
I plant my words in Georgia ground—
They bloom like honeysuckle sound.
[Chorus]
I’m a red-clay backbone man,
Rooted deep where good rows stand;
Can’t rewrite the dirt that made me—
Books and barns and Grandpa’s hand.
Bet your boots I know my brand,
Set like fence-posts in this land;
Say your piece, but understand:
I’m a red-clay backbone man.
[Verse 2]
I won’t shake hands for polished press,
My Sunday suit is faded dress.
Ask a crooked, sideways thing—
You’ll get the truth my hammers sing.
Between Amazing Grace at dawn
And nighttime blasting Skynyrd on,
I walk that line with weathered pride,
A sinner’s grin, a saint’s inside.
[Chorus]
I’m a red-clay backbone man,
Rooted deep where good rows stand;
Can’t rewrite the dirt that made me—
Books and barns and Grandpa’s hand.
Bet your boots I know my brand,
Set like fence-posts in this land;
Say your piece, but understand:
I’m a red-clay backbone man.
[Verse 3]
They say someday I’ll be outlaw-grade,
Still paying dues with sweet tea paid.
King James rides in my glove box,
Beside a flask of sour mash knocks.
When this world spins slick and fast,
I till my furrow, hold it fast;
‘Cause truth grows strong in crimson loam—
That red-clay keeps me headed home.
[Chorus]
I’m a red-clay backbone man,
Rooted deep where good rows stand;
Can’t rewrite the dirt that made me—
Books and barns and Grandpa’s hand.
Bet your boots I know my brand,
Set like fence-posts in this land;
Say your piece, but understand:
I’m a red-clay backbone man.

Stubborn Like the Soil

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https://www.youtube.com/@theartificialhomewreckers

We country swerving a tad towards rock n roll! You can easily navigate genres in the Playlist section.

Strumming their way through heartbreak, hilarity, and highway hijinks, The Artificial Home Wreckers are a country rock band like no other. Born from a chance encounter at a roadside diner with a broken jukebox, these renegades of rhythm specialize in songs that sound like a wild Friday night and feel like a hungover Saturday morning.

Their music is a cocktail of twangy guitars, foot-stomping beats, and lyrics that toe the line between tragic and downright ridiculous. From ballads about exes who "borrowed" their truck (and forgot to return it) to anthems about that one unforgettable karaoke night gone horribly wrong, they’ve got a tune for every lovable misfit out there.

Catch them on tour (if their GPS actually works this time), and remember their motto: “Breaking homes one chorus at a time!”

New tracks tagged #indie-country,