Country Music

Classic Country Music Hits

Country Music

Rory Feek – That’s Important To Me

Hinh website 2025 01 19T212640.840
“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”
Introduction

up a meaningful life. Joey’s voice, full of grace and tenderness, carries each lyric like it’s wrapped in love. Her delivery feels like a direct connection to the soul, a reminder to cherish what we often overlook.

What makes “That’s Important to Me” even more special is the story behind it. Joey and Rory lived what they sang, building a life centered around the values expressed in the song. Listening to it feels like getting a glimpse into their world—a world where love, humility, and gratitude were not just lyrics but a way of life.

This song resonates because it’s so relatable. It reminds us to pause and appreciate the things that bring genuine joy. Whether it’s the peace of a sunset, the comfort of home, or the laughter of loved ones, “That’s Important to Me” is like a gentle nudge, urging us to hold onto what really counts

Video

Lyrics

Not plannin’ my day around the T.V. set
Payin’ our bills and stayin’ out of debt
That’s important to me
That’s important to me
Openin’ the windows and lettin’ in air
Holdin’ hands when we’re sayin’ a prayer
That’s important to me
Yeah that’s important to me
Havin’ somebody to share my life
Loving my husband and bein’ a wife
And the very best mother I can be
That’s important to me
Tellin’ the truth and bein’ real
And feeding my family a home cooked meal
That’s important to me
That’s important to me
Plantin’ a garden and watchin’ it grow
Keepin’ it country on the radio
That’s important to me
Yeah that’s important to me
Always havin’ you to hold
Bein’ beside you when we grow old
And they’ll plant us ‘neath that big oak tree
That’s important to me
Always havin’ you to hold
Bein’ beside you when we grow old
And they’ll plant us ‘neath that big oak tree
Believin’ our dreams,
Still bein’ ourselves if we ever get there
That’s important to me
That’s important to me
Yeah, that’s important to me
Hm that’s important to me

Related Post

Country Music

BEFORE OUTLAW COUNTRY BECAME A BRAND, IT WAS A ROOM CALLED HILLBILLY CENTRAL — AND TOMPALL GLASER HELD THE KEY. The room did not look like a revolution. It looked lived in. Tape machines. Cigarette smoke. Late hours. Men drifting in with songs too rough for the clean rooms of Music Row. Nobody came there looking polished. That was why they came. Hillbilly Central was Tompall Glaser’s place. A studio. A hideout. A door Nashville could not quite control. Waylon could come through carrying anger. Billy Joe Shaver could come through carrying songs. John Hartford, Kinky Friedman, and the restless outsiders found something there that the official offices rarely gave them: room to sound like themselves. Tompall did not become the face of outlaw country the way Willie and Waylon did. But faces need walls behind them. Hillbilly Central was one of those walls. Before the movement became album covers, black hats, red bandanas, and a word the industry could sell back to the public, it was people gathering after hours because the normal rooms had gotten too small. That is what Tompall gave them. Not permission. Space. And sometimes that is all a rebellion needs at first — one unlocked door, one tape machine, and one man willing to let the unwanted songs stay loud.

Country Music

MARTY ROBBINS COULD HAVE WON MORE THAN APPLAUSE THAT DAY — BUT HE DROVE INTO THE WALL SO ANOTHER MAN COULD LIVE. The engine was screaming louder than any crowd Marty Robbins had ever faced. Charlotte, 1974. A race car under him. Speed in his hands. A decision coming at him too fast to rehearse. Most people knew Marty as the voice behind “El Paso,” the smooth singer who could make a cowboy’s death sound beautiful. But inside a stock car, there was nothing smooth about him. There was only heat, noise, rubber, steel, and a split second where a man finds out what kind of courage he really has. Then Richard Childress’s car appeared in trouble ahead. Marty had a choice. Hold the line and risk hitting him hard, or turn away from another man’s danger and take the damage himself. He chose the wall. The crash tore up the car, but it kept something worse from happening. Marty walked away without turning the story into a sermon. That was never his style. He went back to being Marty — singer, racer, showman, a man who seemed to live two lives and meant both of them. Sometimes the bravest note a singer ever hits is not sung. Sometimes it is a turn into the wall.

Country Music

TOBY KEITH WASN’T THERE WHEN THE DERBY GATES OPENED — BUT HIS NAME WAS STILL ON A HORSE TRYING TO RUN FOR HIM. Churchill Downs was never quiet on Derby day. Hats. Cameras. Million-dollar horses moving like thunder under silk colors. The whole place dressed up for speed, money, luck, and heartbreak. But in 2025, one name carried a different kind of weight. Render Judgment. The horse came to the Kentucky Derby backed by Dream Walkin’ Farms, the racing dream Toby Keith had built far away from the stage lights. He was not there to walk the backside. Not there to stand by the rail. Not there to grin beneath a cowboy hat while the announcer called the field. Toby had been gone for more than a year. Still, the dream showed up. That is the strange thing about horses. They do not care how famous you were. They do not slow down because the owner is a legend. They do not know grief the way people know it. They only run. For Toby, racing had never been a side hobby with a celebrity name attached. He loved the barns, the breeding, the waiting, the brutal patience of it. A song can hit in three minutes. A horse takes years. Render Judgment was not just a Derby entry. It was a piece of unfinished business moving toward the gate without the man who had imagined it. When the doors opened, Toby Keith could not hear the crowd. He could not see the dirt kick up. He could not watch the horse break into the first turn. But his name was still there, tucked into the story, running on four legs after the voice was gone. What does it mean when a man dies before his dream reaches the starting line — and the dream runs anyway?

You Missed

Country Music

BEFORE OUTLAW COUNTRY BECAME A BRAND, IT WAS A ROOM CALLED HILLBILLY CENTRAL — AND TOMPALL GLASER HELD THE KEY. The room did not look like a revolution. It looked lived in. Tape machines. Cigarette smoke. Late hours. Men drifting in with songs too rough for the clean rooms of Music Row. Nobody came there looking polished. That was why they came. Hillbilly Central was Tompall Glaser’s place. A studio. A hideout. A door Nashville could not quite control. Waylon could come through carrying anger. Billy Joe Shaver could come through carrying songs. John Hartford, Kinky Friedman, and the restless outsiders found something there that the official offices rarely gave them: room to sound like themselves. Tompall did not become the face of outlaw country the way Willie and Waylon did. But faces need walls behind them. Hillbilly Central was one of those walls. Before the movement became album covers, black hats, red bandanas, and a word the industry could sell back to the public, it was people gathering after hours because the normal rooms had gotten too small. That is what Tompall gave them. Not permission. Space. And sometimes that is all a rebellion needs at first — one unlocked door, one tape machine, and one man willing to let the unwanted songs stay loud.

Country Music

MARTY ROBBINS COULD HAVE WON MORE THAN APPLAUSE THAT DAY — BUT HE DROVE INTO THE WALL SO ANOTHER MAN COULD LIVE. The engine was screaming louder than any crowd Marty Robbins had ever faced. Charlotte, 1974. A race car under him. Speed in his hands. A decision coming at him too fast to rehearse. Most people knew Marty as the voice behind “El Paso,” the smooth singer who could make a cowboy’s death sound beautiful. But inside a stock car, there was nothing smooth about him. There was only heat, noise, rubber, steel, and a split second where a man finds out what kind of courage he really has. Then Richard Childress’s car appeared in trouble ahead. Marty had a choice. Hold the line and risk hitting him hard, or turn away from another man’s danger and take the damage himself. He chose the wall. The crash tore up the car, but it kept something worse from happening. Marty walked away without turning the story into a sermon. That was never his style. He went back to being Marty — singer, racer, showman, a man who seemed to live two lives and meant both of them. Sometimes the bravest note a singer ever hits is not sung. Sometimes it is a turn into the wall.

Country Music

TOBY KEITH WASN’T THERE WHEN THE DERBY GATES OPENED — BUT HIS NAME WAS STILL ON A HORSE TRYING TO RUN FOR HIM. Churchill Downs was never quiet on Derby day. Hats. Cameras. Million-dollar horses moving like thunder under silk colors. The whole place dressed up for speed, money, luck, and heartbreak. But in 2025, one name carried a different kind of weight. Render Judgment. The horse came to the Kentucky Derby backed by Dream Walkin’ Farms, the racing dream Toby Keith had built far away from the stage lights. He was not there to walk the backside. Not there to stand by the rail. Not there to grin beneath a cowboy hat while the announcer called the field. Toby had been gone for more than a year. Still, the dream showed up. That is the strange thing about horses. They do not care how famous you were. They do not slow down because the owner is a legend. They do not know grief the way people know it. They only run. For Toby, racing had never been a side hobby with a celebrity name attached. He loved the barns, the breeding, the waiting, the brutal patience of it. A song can hit in three minutes. A horse takes years. Render Judgment was not just a Derby entry. It was a piece of unfinished business moving toward the gate without the man who had imagined it. When the doors opened, Toby Keith could not hear the crowd. He could not see the dirt kick up. He could not watch the horse break into the first turn. But his name was still there, tucked into the story, running on four legs after the voice was gone. What does it mean when a man dies before his dream reaches the starting line — and the dream runs anyway?

Country Music

THE DAY AFTER HE DIED, HE OWNED 9 OF THE TOP 10 COUNTRY SONGS ON BILLBOARD — NO ARTIST HAD EVER DONE THAT Toby Keith fought stomach cancer for over two years. He never complained. He never asked anyone to feel sorry for him. On February 5, 2024, he passed away at 62 — quietly, in his sleep, surrounded by his family. The next morning, something no one expected happened. Fans didn’t just mourn. They pressed play. Within days, Toby Keith claimed 9 of the top 10 spots on Billboard’s Country Digital Song Sales chart — a record no artist had ever touched. Not Kenny Rogers. Not Taylor Swift. No one. Should’ve Been a Cowboy sat next to Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue. Beer for My Horses next to American Soldier. Don’t Let the Old Man In — the song he could barely stand up to sing four months earlier — was back at number one. Oklahoma flew its flags at half-staff. Fans at a college basketball game raised red Solo cups and sang his name. America wasn’t just listening to his music. They were saying goodbye the only way they knew how. What Toby Keith song hit you the hardest that week?