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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

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#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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#country #countrymusic #countryrock 

[Verse]
Nickels kiss the counter; whiskey hums a low refrain,
We were prairie fire at midnight—now we smolder in the rain.
I ping the half-lit posse, every screen just stays asleep,
So I toast those silent cowboys and the secrets they still keep.
[Chorus]
Wildfire rebels gone mild tonight,
Swappin’ barroom blaze for porch-light white.
Wisdom might be silver, but we spend plain brass,
Laughin’ at the mirror with a tip-jar sass.
[Verse 2]
Deacon shelved his Tele, traded licks for lullaby,
Sawyer hauled me upright when the rail was runnin’ dry.
Boone keeps duckin’ numbers down a Dallas neon bend,
I drop a voicemail every birthday like a postcard never sent.
[Chorus]
Wildfire rebels gone mild tonight,
Swappin’ barroom blaze for porch-light white.
Wisdom might be silver, but we spend plain brass,
Raise a jar to the mischief that still rides our past.
[Verse 3]
Timmy swears the river beast grows a foot with every pour,
We surf the foam of mem’ries till our boots can’t find the shore.
Wrinkles map the cattle trails that time cut ‘cross our skin,
Yet the spark behind these pupils fans a wind that won’t give in.
[Chorus]
Wildfire rebels gone mild tonight,
Swappin’ barroom blaze for porch-light white.
Wisdom might be silver, but we spend plain brass,
Older by the tally—still young in the glass.

Wildfire Rebels Gone Mild

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#country #countrymusic #countryrock 

[Verse 1]
Sunrise sneaks in through a cracked-up blind,
Clock keeps talkin’ like a partner in crime.
Pocket’s just a canyon where the echoes play,
But the night’s old riff still begs me to stay.
[Chorus]
I’ve got miles of minutes drivin’ wild and free,
But my cash is caught in some melody.
So crank that open road inside my head—
Long on time, short on coin, let the backbeat raise the dead.
[Verse 2]
Sidewalk prophets preach about silver and gold,
While my denim dreams are wearin’ thin and cold.
Empty-cup coffee and a phantom parade,
Still I ride the thunder that cheap guitars made.
[Chorus]
I’ve got miles of minutes drivin’ wild and free,
But my cash is caught in some melody.
So crank that open road inside my head—
Long on time, short on coin, let the backbeat raise the dead.
[Verse 3]
Moonlight circus on a back-alley stage,
Serenade the shadows, let ’em rattle the cage.
Fortune’s just a rumor that the rich folks keep,
But I’m burnin’ hours like a riff I’ll never sleep.
[Chorus]
I’ve got miles of minutes drivin’ wild and free,
But my cash is caught in some melody.
So crank that open road inside my head—
Long on time, short on coin, let the backbeat raise the dead.

Clock Without a Coin

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We country swerving a tad towards rock n roll!

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!”

Popular tracks tagged #outlaw-country,