Under My Skin

Fire We Found

Back In The Country

Thinking and Driving

Dirty Dancing

Don't Let Go (Hold Me Close)

Shade Tree

Me & A Beer

Comin' In Cold

"Time to Clean Things Up"

A heartfelt country rock ballad about the moment a man faces the truth in his reflection—he’s not 22 anymore, and it’s time to grow into the man life’s been demanding. With themes of self-reflection, maturity, and redemption, this song captures the quiet strength it takes to leave chaos behind and start living with purpose, grace, and love.



Time to clean things up

I’ve seen Vermont in autumn blaze like fire in the trees,
And tasted maple syrup that could bring a grown man to his knees.
New York’s got that skyline, Boston's got that fight,
But I still dream of Bama stars on a backroad Friday night.

Alabama ain't heaven, but is much better,
Got red clay dreams in any weather.
Ain’t no halos, we shine just fine,
With a six-pack sunset and a backwoods shrine.

Them Great Lakes shine like silver, and Maine’s got lobster gold,
There’s steel-town sweat in Pittsburgh that’ll never do what it's told.
I drank whiskey in Kentucky, heard a fiddle in the rain,
But when that southern thunder calls, I’m hoppin' on a train.

Them northern girls wear Carhartt coats and don’t take any flack,
They’ll outdrink you in a blizzard and still split their own stack.
Much respect for that cold courage, for their fire and their snow,
But give me heat and humid nights where the fireflies steal the show.

Alabama ain't heaven, but is much better,
Girls wear boots and lace together.
We don’t need wings, we got four-wheel drive,
And a porchlight faith that keeps dreams alive.

There’s kindness in Ohio, where the cornfields kiss the sky,
And Philly folks will feed you first, then punch you if you lie.
I’ve seen the best of Yankee hearts, they work and love damn hard,
But my roots grow deep in Bama dirt, in my soul and in my scars.

Yeah, heaven's fine if you're a saint, but I still cuss and bleed,
I’d rather die in Tuscaloosa with a cooler full of need.
Give me fireflies over harps, give me smoke and old regrets,
'Cause in Alabama, even sinners don't forget.

Alabama ain't heaven, but is much better,
We sin with style and pray with leather.
Ain’t no crown, but we wear pride,
With a shot of truth and a hell of a ride.



Alabama ain't Heaven

Thinking and Driving

Trevor Snider

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