Songs We Live By

Songs that shaped the way we think, fight, and walk.

Our Spotify Soundtrack sparked the vision for the brand and book. The songs below weave stories that reveal why they fuel our life.

Click the play button below to give it a listen, and head on over to the channel if you want more. Don’t cost nothin’.

I remember sitting in Uncle Runt’s pasture, waiting on Dad to finish baling enough square bales for us to start loading the trailer and haul ’em back to the barn. It was pushing 100 degrees in that thick Northwest Louisiana heat. The water was cold, the air was still, and that old brown Ford truck sat parked with its doors wide open — 8-track humming, “Simple Man” rolling across the field like a sermon.

“Be a simple kind of man… Be something you love and understand.”

The song ain’t just southern rock. It’s a conversation — a mama talking to her boy, telling him not to chase the shiny stuff, not to sell out who he is. She tells him to stay grounded, be kind, love deep, and live with meaning. That message cuts through louder than any guitar solo ever could.

Out there in that hayfield, it made sense. Life was raw but good. You worked hard. You respected your elders. You found joy in simple things — cold water, dirt roads, music from the heart. That wasn’t just a song on the radio — it was a compass.

I come back to “Simple Man” every now and then, especially when life gets too loud. It reminds me that purpose ain’t found in success — it’s found in staying true. That’s the SphstRDnck way. Rooted, real, and never chasing anything that costs your soul.

This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.

Some songs don’t just play — they declare.
And Hank Jr. didn’t ask for permission when he said it:
“A country boy can survive.”

This is the anthem of rural grit.
Guns, God, and self-reliance. No apologies. No filters. Just truth.

This is the anthem of rural grit.
Guns, God, and self-reliance.
No apologies. No filters. Just truth.

If you grew up in the country, you already know what he’s talking about. You make do with what you got. You fix it, patch it, or turn it into something new.

We built it. We lived it. We fought for it.

I remember walking back in the hollow where our hog finishing floor sat — late January in northwest Louisiana. Cold air biting through coveralls and two pairs of socks. You could hear geese overhead heading south, smarter than we were for sticking around. Life was simple. Being honest was simple. Everybody already knew everything about you anyway.

You didn’t waste a thing — wood, nails, tin, wire — we used it till it was no more. What some folks call “asset utilization,” we just called life.

We may not have had polished words or fancy degrees. But we had common sense, a sharp eye for what mattered, and the guts to stand by it.

And that’s the power of survival:
It don’t just teach you to make it — it teaches you to win.
To live smart. Live strong. And live free.

This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.

Some songs ain’t just music — they’re memory.
David Allan Coe didn’t just sing a tune — he carved out a tribute to everything real country folks carry in their bones:
“If that ain’t country, I’ll kiss your ass.”

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I grew up chasing butterflies at my grandma’s house — she’d pay us a nickel a piece, and we thought we’d struck gold.
We were rich, not in money, but in freedom and happiness.
Fireflies flickered just after sunset.
Whippoorwills sang out in the distance, calling out for love.
Fried chicken, hot water cornbread, and corn on the cob filled our bellies, while Hee Haw played on TV. After dinner we’d sit around the table shelling peas thinking about the peas and cornbread to come.

Mama made popcorn balls for Halloween,
and folks would drive miles just to taste one.
That old farmhouse wasn’t much by the world’s standards, but it was everything we needed.
It was country — real country.
And hard work? That was expected the second you stepped off the back porch.

Inside, we respected the home.
Outside, we earned our keep.
Dad’s cowboy hats hung by the door like badges of honor.
He had two — one beat to hell for work, and one clean for church and Sunday dinners.
I didn’t wear one, never did.

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This song, this life — it ain’t just nostalgia.
It’s a blueprint for how to live smart, live free, and live proud.
That kind of country upbringing teaches you more than survival — it teaches how to build something that lasts.

You don’t need much — just some grit, some faith, and a whole lot of country common sense.

So if you’re looking for a place to start building your best life — start there.
If that ain’t country… well, you already know.

This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.

Some songs hit you like a truth you’ve always known.
Waylon and Willie weren’t just crooning a tune — they were spelling out the terms of a life that don’t come easy.

“They’re never at home and they’re always alone, even with someone they love.”

Being a cowboy — or any kind of dirt-road, hard-working, live-on-your-own-terms man — ain’t built for comfort. It’s built for character.

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Yeah, I was a Mama’s boy — but don’t get it twisted.
The youngest of five, and a constant target for the older brothers. Tough wasn’t optional. Me and the one just older than me would go at it daily — “king of the hill” turned into full-on fight nights when our older brothers got those boxing gloves for Christmas. Word is I beat him bloody once… the only time I ever did.

That’s just how it was. You got tough — and if you were lucky, you stayed soft inside.
Like the rind on a watermelon: rough, green, dirt-stained on the outside… sweet as sugar on the inside.

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Being raised country makes you real.
You’re built for labor. Built to fight weather and wild and still make something grow. Built to handle heartbreak and hard seasons, and keep going like the tractor don’t stop just ‘cause it’s cold.

That’s what Waylon and Willie meant.

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You don’t get a remarkable life without resistance.
But being calloused don’t mean you lose your kindness.
Being hard-headed don’t mean you can’t have a tender heart.
And living rough doesn’t mean giving up on loving deep.

So here’s the truth for the road:

You can take a beating, you can hand one out,
and still know how to hold a baby or help a neighbor.
That ain’t weakness — that’s the real strength the world forgot.

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Live your best life the cowboy way.
Take your hits. Stay sweet. And never stop riding toward what matters.
Just be ready — it ain’t soft. But it sure as hell is worth it.

This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.

Some songs ain’t just music — they’re confessions.

Johnny Cash didn’t write about being perfect. He wrote about walking the line anyway.
Even when the devil whispers.
Even when the road ahead’s dark and crooked.
Even when you gotta carry your demons with you.

“Because you’re mine, I walk the line.”

That’s loyalty. That’s discipline. That’s grit.
And it ain’t always clean or pretty — but it’s real.

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I’ve danced with my demons, too.
Back in my Louisiana days, I treated the party tachometer like it was a race — redlined it long enough to know the engine don’t run right afterward.
College was fun — but truth is, I was running from something.
Trying to outdrink, outlaugh, out-party the voices in my head.
Didn’t work.

Eventually, I had to get real.

Had to ask the hard questions.
Had to stop self-destructing.
Had to decide: do I want to keep drifting… or start walking the damn line?

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That’s what this song teaches us.
You want to live your best life? Walk the line.
No shortcuts. No pity. Just truth, discipline, and staying steady when every excuse says quit.

Loyalty to who you love.
Discipline to who you want to become.
And the courage to tell your demons: Not today, son.

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Walk the line. Stumble if you must. But walk it anyway.
‘Cause the other side of that road — that’s where your real life begins.
You’ll know yourself.
You’ll understand others.
And finally, you’ll find purpose that ain’t just about you… it’s about legacy.

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You don’t have to be perfect.
You just have to keep walking the line.

This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.

Hard work ain’t just what we do. It’s who we are.

Merle Haggard didn’t dress it up.
He told it like it is — about sweat, long hours, busted knuckles, and being damn proud of it.

“I keep my nose on the grindstone, I work hard every day…”

That line doesn’t just sing. It sticks.
Because whether you’re pushing a plow, swinging a hammer, or building a business from a dirt road desk — working matters.

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I’ve been working since I could carry a bucket.
Hell, even before that — standing on the truck seat, keeping it steady while square bales hit the bed behind me.
Then it was hauling hay for 25 bucks a week. Just enough for a night out and a few bucks left in your pocket.

But that wasn’t the real reward.

The reward was what it built in me — discipline.
The ability to show up, keep going, and figure things out even when the odds weren’t in my favor.

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Truth is, not everybody’s wired for that.
Most folks quit when things get hard.
But working men — we adapt, we grind, and we don’t wait for handouts.
We figure it out. Period.

That’s what Merle was singing about.
And it still hits today — even if you’re in steel toes or behind a laptop.

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Because these days, it ain’t just about brawn.
You gotta use your brain, too.
Know when to push, when to pivot, and how to build something solid with both sweat and smarts.

Be the kind of man who can outthink, outwork, and outlast whatever comes his way.

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Let the world change. We’ll stay rooted.
Because character doesn’t go out of style.
And Merle knew — a good man, a working man, a man of his word — he’s the backbone of any future worth building.

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You want to live your best life?
Show up. Work hard. Stay proud. Repeat.

This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.

Some folks follow the rules.
Others write their own — with a busted pen and a bloody thumb.

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Chris Stapleton nailed the spirit of the rebel when he growled out:

“I’m just a man who’s got nothing to lose…”

That ain’t about being reckless.
It’s about being real — even when the world tells you to fake it, tame it, polish it up for likes.

An Outlaw State of Mind doesn’t mean you’re running from the law.
It means you’re not afraid to live by your own code.

I toasted my brother’s 60th birthday with a nod to that same outlaw spirit.
Willie. Waylon. Jessi.
They paved a path for people like him — country boys too sharp for their own good, too honest to lie to your face, and too damn stubborn to fit in a box.

He’s got that outlaw grit in his bones.
And he’s worn it like a badge, not a costume.

Here’s the truth:
You don’t live your best life by blending in.
You live it by knowing who you are, owning your faults, and walking through life unfiltered — battle scars and all.

There’s a kind of freedom in that.
Not the kind you buy.
The kind you earn.

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Takeaway:

Be bold enough to break the mold.
Don’t ask permission to be yourself.
The road’s rougher that way — but it’s yours.
And at the end of the day, there’s nothing more SphstRDnck than that.

This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.

Built From The Ground Up.

Heritage ain’t just a word. It’s a backbone.

Hank Jr. didn’t write this to please the polite crowd.
He wrote it to say, This is who I am — and I’m not changing to fit your mold.

“They get on me, want to know, Hank, why do you drink?”

That line’s not just about whiskey.
It’s about being unapologetic for the way you were raised, the values you stand on, and the way you choose to live.

I come from a family of hard-working, strong willed folks.
Farm life taught me real quick — ten to twelve-hour days weren’t something to complain about. They were just life.
Sunday might be a day of rest, but cows don’t read calendars. They’re still hungry.
And when the work’s done? [If ever.] That’s when you sit back, look around, and know you earned every damn thing in front of you.

But here’s the thing — family tradition isn’t about doing things exactly like your folks did.
It’s about knowing where you came from, taking the best of it, and carrying it forward in your own way.

These days, people let outsiders tell ’em how to think, live, even raise their kids.
Not me. I know my roots. I know my people. I know the lessons carved into me from years of dirt under my nails and sweat in my shirt.

Tradition gives you a compass.
It keeps you steady when the world’s telling you to drift.
It reminds you — values aren’t something you trade in when the wind changes.

Want to live your best life?
Don’t let the noise of the world drown out the voice of your raising.
Stand on your roots. Live your code. Pass it on.

This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.

A Cajun stomp that feels like home.

Some songs aren’t just music — they’re a smell, a taste, a memory that grabs you by the collar and yanks you straight back into the best of times. For me, Louisiana Saturday Night is that. You hear that fiddle kick in, and you don’t just hear it — you feel it in your bones. You know the game’s about to start. You know Death Valley’s about to shake the earth. You know the whole stadium’s about to sing along like one big Cajun family reunion.

That’s the magic of it. Before the kickoff, before the first whistle, before the Tiger band strikes up, that violin line cuts through the air like a clarion call. It’s a sound that tells you you’re not just watching football — you’re part of it. LSU isn’t a team you just root for; it’s something you live and breathe. And Louisiana Saturday Night is the soundtrack to that heartbeat.

Mel McDaniel’s voice paints the picture clear as a bayou sunset — folks gathered up after the work is done, music playing, feet stomping, and life slowing down to the good stuff: family, friends, and a little bit of dancing under the stars. It’s not about money. It’s not about fancy. It’s about moments.

And that’s a dirt road truth right there: the best life isn’t built out of big wins or bank accounts — it’s built out of little pockets of joy you make space for.

“Kick off your shoes, throw ‘em on the floor, dance in the kitchen ‘til the mornin’ light.”
That’s not just a lyric — that’s a philosophy. Work hard, play harder, and don’t be too proud to cut loose like a fool now and then.

We’ve all lived enough to know you need that balance. You’ve got to be tough enough to work the week, fight through storms, and take life’s hits without folding. But you’ve also got to be soft enough to laugh, to celebrate, and to let yourself enjoy the small stuff. Louisiana Saturday Night reminds me to keep both alive.

When you’re in Death Valley on game night, it all comes together — the tradition, the music, the roar of the crowd, and the feeling that you’re surrounded by your people. That’s what makes it special. It’s not just a song about a Saturday night — it’s a reminder that life’s sweetest moments are meant to be shared.

So here’s the takeaway:
Work like a Tiger in the field all week, but when the sun goes down and the music starts, let yourself live like it’s a Louisiana Saturday night. Laugh loud. Dance barefoot. Hold your people close. That’s how you live your best life — a little grit, a little joy, and a whole lot of heart.

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This playlist is how we live — rough, rooted, and real. Scroll on for more songs that shaped the journey.