To date, there have only been three country songs that I actively despise. (These would be “hit” songs, of course, ones with enough radio airplay to boost them from “I don’t like this but won’t likely hear it again” to “God, I hate this, change the station! Make it stop!”)
Those would be:
- Tim McGraw’s “Don’t Take the Girl”, despised because of the bad poetry in the second verse.
- Colin Raye’s “That’s My Story (And I’m Sticking to It)”, his song about getting caught in a lie and just digging a deeper hole.
- Reba McEntire’s “She Thinks His Name is John”, about a woman who has a single instance of anonymous sex in her life and dies of AIDS because of it.
My oh my, you’re so good-lookingGack. Make it stop. Banal. Insipid. Lyrics that don’t add up to anything. The second line doesn’t even rhyme. (And I’m generally forgiving more forgiving about whether or not something rhymes when it is sung.)
Hold yourself together like a pair of bookends
But I’ve not tasted all your cooking
Who are you when I’m not looking?
No one has tasted all of my cooking, hon, not even me! I keep making new stuff. That pan-fried tilapia with paprika and bacon fat last night was nummy.