I’m serious. She sang it that way for years without ever questioning why a band would sing about a fax machine.
If the next song seems really random, that’s because it is. Even I can’t explain how it became intertwined with a prominent childhood memory, but here it is nonetheless.
My mom and aunt used to take me and my cousins to visit this historic cemetery in the tiny town I was born in (even tinier than the tiny town I grew up in). We’d climb up the giant hill and pay our respects to people, including small children, who died in the late 1800s and early 1900s. I can’t explain why, but I think of that fond memory EVERY TIME I hear the 1993 Joe Diffie song, “Prop Me up beside the Jukebox (if I die).”
I can’t imagine the people buried there would have wanted people to fill their boots up with sand and put a stiff drink in their hands like that song says. Maybe I’m wrong, though.
When I see clouds of dust rolling off the fields as my dad and uncles plow up the land, I can’t help but think of Jason Aldean’s “Amarillo sky.”
That song feels like home.
“He just takes the tractor another round and pulls the plow across the ground and sends up another prayer,” the song says. “He says Lord I never complain I never ask why, but please don't let my dream run dry underneath, underneath this Amarillo sky.”
And Montgomery Gentry’s song “She don’t tell me to” feels like young love to me.
There’s a line in the song that says, “Every now and then on my way home, I stop at a spot where the wildflowers grow and I pick a few ‘cause she don’t tell me to.”