Country Music

Classic Country Music Hits

Country Music

THE SONG DIDN’T ARGUE WITH THE DAY — IT WALKED THROUGH IT. Merle sang “No Hard Times” like a man putting his tools away for the night. Not because the work was easy. Because it was done. There’s no denial in that voice. Just gratitude that doesn’t erase the scars. He doesn’t argue with the road. He accepts it. This wasn’t Merle softening. It was Merle arriving. No Hard Times isn’t about having less pain. It’s about carrying it without complaint — and letting the day end on its own terms.

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Introduction

If you’ve ever sat down at the end of a long day and felt that quiet relief of simply being done, “No Hard Times” will feel familiar right away. Merle Haggard sings this one without drama, without bitterness, and without trying to impress anyone. It sounds like a man who’s carried his share, set it down for a moment, and decided not to complain about the weight anymore.

What makes the song special isn’t what Merle avoids—it’s what he accepts. There’s no denial of struggle here. You can hear the miles in his voice, the losses, the work, the years that didn’t go as planned. But instead of arguing with life, he lets it be. That calm, almost conversational delivery turns the song into a quiet statement of gratitude: not for an easy road, but for the strength to walk it.

In the broader arc of Merle Haggard’s music, “No Hard Times” feels like arrival rather than retreat. This isn’t a man softening with age—it’s a man who’s learned that peace doesn’t come from winning every fight, but from knowing when the day is finished. For listeners, especially those who’ve lived a little, the song lands gently and stays with you, like dusk settling in after honest work.

Video

Lyrics

I got a barrel of flour, Lord
I got a bucket of lard
I got a barrel of flour, Lord
I got a bucket of lard i ain’t got no blues
Got chickens in my backyard
Got corn in my crib
Cotton growing in my patch
I got corn in my crib
Cotton growing in my patch
I got that old hen sitting waiting
For that old hen to hatch
Yodel ay-ee oh hard time blues
I’m gonna hitch up my mule and
Take a holt of my line
I’m gonna hitch up my mule and
Take a holt of my line
I can’t be bothered with all
Those old hard times
(Oh, go ahead and pick one now)
I’m gonna build me a shanty, Lord
I’m gonna settle down
I’m gonna build me a shanty, Lord
I’m gonna settle down
Get me a cornfed mama and, Lordy
Quit a-running round (Here he comes)
I can make more money with my pick and plow
I can make more money with my pick and plow
With my one-eyed mule and my
Good old Jersey cow
Yodel ay-ee oh hard time blues

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Country Music

ON HIS LAST BIRTHDAY, THE JOKES DIDN’T SHOW UP — AND HE DIDN’T MISS THEM. For years, Jerry Reed filled rooms without trying. Laughter came easy. So did the notes — quick, playful, never heavy. He made music feel like it was smiling back at you. That night was different. No stage. No crowd waiting to be won. Just a kitchen table, a small cake, and the people who knew the man before the momentum. He looked quieter. Not sad — finished. When he raised his glass, there was no punchline chasing it. Only a familiar grin, softened, like it had finally found a place to rest. You can hear that ease in “Amos Moses.” The joy isn’t forced. It moves because it wants to. Jerry didn’t stop being funny. He just stopped performing it. Same spirit. Same smile. The music stayed — it just learned how to sit down with him.

Country Music

THE LIFE DIDN’T BEND — IT TAUGHT HIM HOW TO STAND. From a young boy cradling a tiny dog in Oildale’s dusty backyard, to a defiant teenager locked behind San Quentin’s steel bars, to the man stepping onto stage with a guitar that carried his name — Merle Haggard’s life was anything but easy. His father was gone too early. The house was small. His mother worked past exhaustion to keep it standing. Trouble came before direction. Prison came before purpose. And inside those walls, music didn’t rescue him — it sharpened him. When Merle walked out, he carried a voice that knew exactly where it had been. Hungry Eyes. Mama Tried. Sing Me Back Home. Merle never dressed life up to make it easier to hear. He left it bare. Because some songs aren’t meant to comfort you — they’re meant to tell you where you’re standing.

Country Music

THE NAME DIDN’T NEED TO BE SAID. Marty learned early that singing a Merle Haggard song meant answering a question — not asking one. There was never a lesson about how to carry it. Just an understanding that some songs don’t belong to the voice alone. When Marty sings “Mama Tried,” it doesn’t sound inherited. It sounds accepted. Like a man standing inside a truth that already knows his weight. He doesn’t lean on memory. He doesn’t correct the past. He lets the song keep its edges, the way his father always did. This isn’t a son repeating a legend. It’s a man choosing to stay accurate — even when accuracy costs more than comfort.

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Country Music

THE SONG DIDN’T ARGUE WITH THE DAY — IT WALKED THROUGH IT. Merle sang “No Hard Times” like a man putting his tools away for the night. Not because the work was easy. Because it was done. There’s no denial in that voice. Just gratitude that doesn’t erase the scars. He doesn’t argue with the road. He accepts it. This wasn’t Merle softening. It was Merle arriving. No Hard Times isn’t about having less pain. It’s about carrying it without complaint — and letting the day end on its own terms.

Country Music

ON HIS LAST BIRTHDAY, THE JOKES DIDN’T SHOW UP — AND HE DIDN’T MISS THEM. For years, Jerry Reed filled rooms without trying. Laughter came easy. So did the notes — quick, playful, never heavy. He made music feel like it was smiling back at you. That night was different. No stage. No crowd waiting to be won. Just a kitchen table, a small cake, and the people who knew the man before the momentum. He looked quieter. Not sad — finished. When he raised his glass, there was no punchline chasing it. Only a familiar grin, softened, like it had finally found a place to rest. You can hear that ease in “Amos Moses.” The joy isn’t forced. It moves because it wants to. Jerry didn’t stop being funny. He just stopped performing it. Same spirit. Same smile. The music stayed — it just learned how to sit down with him.

Country Music

THE LIFE DIDN’T BEND — IT TAUGHT HIM HOW TO STAND. From a young boy cradling a tiny dog in Oildale’s dusty backyard, to a defiant teenager locked behind San Quentin’s steel bars, to the man stepping onto stage with a guitar that carried his name — Merle Haggard’s life was anything but easy. His father was gone too early. The house was small. His mother worked past exhaustion to keep it standing. Trouble came before direction. Prison came before purpose. And inside those walls, music didn’t rescue him — it sharpened him. When Merle walked out, he carried a voice that knew exactly where it had been. Hungry Eyes. Mama Tried. Sing Me Back Home. Merle never dressed life up to make it easier to hear. He left it bare. Because some songs aren’t meant to comfort you — they’re meant to tell you where you’re standing.

Country Music

THE NAME DIDN’T NEED TO BE SAID. Marty learned early that singing a Merle Haggard song meant answering a question — not asking one. There was never a lesson about how to carry it. Just an understanding that some songs don’t belong to the voice alone. When Marty sings “Mama Tried,” it doesn’t sound inherited. It sounds accepted. Like a man standing inside a truth that already knows his weight. He doesn’t lean on memory. He doesn’t correct the past. He lets the song keep its edges, the way his father always did. This isn’t a son repeating a legend. It’s a man choosing to stay accurate — even when accuracy costs more than comfort.