![]() You almost want to give Brantley Gilbert, Toby Keith, and Hardy a modicum of credit here for being creative with this attempt to turn the tables on critics, while simultaneously juxtaposing the same supposed badass stuff every stupid Bro-Country song crows about with antonyms. It’s yours truly, and it looks like I need to call out the law dogs to recoup some royalties. ![]() Who the hell’s the agro blogger on record for years writing rants about the worst country songs of all time? It’s certainly not Brantley Gilbert, Hardy, Hunter Phelps, or Will Weatherly, who are given credit for writing this monstrosity. I’m mad if for no other valid reason than I most certainly deserve a damn songwriting credit here for clearly coining the title and lyrical hook. Yeah, I’m mad as hell about this new Brantley Gilbert single. A washed-up jingoist, a normcore corporate songwriting dork with astigmatism, and a roided-out stove-headed tough guy in motorcycle garb walk into a bar … stop me if you’ve heard this one.
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