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“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”

Introduction

I remember the first time I stumbled across My List on the radio—it was a lazy Saturday, the kind where the chores were piling up and the to-do list was screaming at me. But then, as Toby Keith’s voice filled the room, something inside me softened. The song wasn’t just music; it was a gentle reminder to pause, breathe, and realign my priorities. For anyone who’s ever felt overwhelmed by life’s endless demands, My List feels like an old friend, nudging you to focus on what truly matters.

About The Composition

  • Title: My List
  • Composer: Tim James and Rand Bishop
  • Premiere Date: Released as a single in January 2002
  • Album/Opus/Collection: Pull My Chain (2001)
  • Genre: Country

Background

According to the Wikipedia page, My List was written by Tim James and Rand Bishop, but Toby Keith made it his own when he recorded it for his Pull My Chain album. The song was released as the album’s third and final single, and it quickly became a fan favorite. At its core, My List is about the simple but profound realization that the things we often push to the bottom of our to-do list—like spending time with loved ones or watching the sunset—are actually the most important. The song resonated deeply upon release, reaching No. 1 on the Billboard Hot Country Singles & Tracks chart and holding that position for five weeks. It remains a standout in Toby Keith’s repertoire, reflecting his gift for blending relatable themes with emotional depth.

Musical Style

Musically, My List is a classic country ballad. It has a steady, mid-tempo rhythm that allows the lyrics to shine without distraction. The arrangement is straightforward: acoustic guitars, light percussion, and Toby Keith’s warm, earnest vocals. There’s no flashy instrumentation here, and that’s by design—the simplicity mirrors the song’s message. Subtle touches like gentle steel guitar lines add a layer of wistfulness, reinforcing the idea of slowing down and appreciating life’s quieter moments.

Lyrics/Libretto

The lyrics of My List walk through a man’s realization that the things on his task list—fixing the sink, paying the bills—pale in comparison to the joy of being present with his loved ones. There’s a particularly touching line about making a phone call to his dad, underscoring themes of connection and family. The song’s brilliance lies in how universal it feels; whether you’re a busy parent, a career-driven professional, or just someone caught up in the daily grind, you can see yourself in these words.

Performance History

Since its release, My List has been performed countless times by Toby Keith, both in intimate acoustic settings and on big stages. Fans often cite it as one of the most emotionally resonant moments in his concerts. Over time, it has become one of his signature songs—not necessarily for its chart success, but because of the emotional connection it sparks. Audience members can often be seen swaying, some with tears in their eyes, when Keith sings this live.

Cultural Impact

Beyond its place in country music, My List has seeped into broader cultural consciousness. Its message has been used in motivational talks, family-themed TV spots, and even personal social media posts where people remind themselves and others to slow down. The song speaks to a cultural moment that never really goes away: the constant push-and-pull between productivity and presence. In an era when busyness is often worn as a badge of honor, My List stands as a quiet rebellion.

Legacy

More than two decades later, My List remains a meaningful part of Toby Keith’s musical legacy. It’s one of those songs that hasn’t aged because its message is timeless. As new generations discover Keith’s catalog, My List continues to stand out, reminding listeners that happiness often lies in the simple, overlooked corners of life.

Conclusion

For anyone looking to reconnect with what really matters, My List is the perfect musical companion. I encourage you to listen to the studio recording on Pull My Chain, but if you really want the full experience, find one of Toby Keith’s live performances of the song—you’ll feel the emotion ripple through the crowd, and maybe through yourself, too. Let it be a gentle nudge to turn off the phone, step away from the to-do list, and savor the moments that truly count

Video

Lyrics

Under an old brass paperweight
Is my list of things to do today
Go to the bank and the hardware store
Put a new lock on the cellar door
I cross ’em off as I get ’em done
But when the sun is settled
There’s still more than a few things left
I haven’t got to yet
Go for a walk, say a little prayer
Take a deep breath of mountain air
Put on my glove and play some catch
It’s time that I make time for that
Wade the shore and cast a line
Look up an old lost friend of mine
Sit on the porch and give my girl a kiss
Start livin’, that’s the next thing on my list
Wouldn’t change the course of fate
The cutting the grass just had to wait
‘Cause I’ve got more important things
Like pushin’ my kid on the backyard swing
I won’t break my back for a million bucks
I can’t take to my grave
So why put off for tomorrow
What I could get done today
Like go for a walk, say a little prayer
Take a deep breath of mountain air
Put on my glove and play some catch
It’s time that I make time for that
Wade the shore, cast a line
Look up an old lost friend of mine
Sit on the porch and give my girl a kiss
Start livin’, that’s the next thing on my list
Raise a little hell, laugh ’til it hurts
Put an extra five in the plate at church
Call up my folks just to chat
It’s time that I make time for that
Stay up late, and oversleep
Show her what she means to me
Catch up on all the things I’ve always missed
Just start livin’, that’s the next thing on my list
Under an old brass paperweight
Is my list of things to do today

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BARBARA MANDRELL SURVIVED A HEAD-ON CRASH THAT KILLED THE OTHER DRIVER. HER BONES HEALED — BUT THE HEAD INJURY, LOST TOURING MONTHS AND PUBLIC BACKLASH TOOK MUCH LONGER. On September 11, 1984, Barbara Mandrell was 35 and still near the height of her career. She had already won the CMA Entertainer of the Year award twice, hosted a hit network television show with her sisters and built a reputation as one of country music’s most polished live performers. Even that week, one of her singles was sitting near the top of the country chart. That evening, Mandrell was driving near her Hendersonville, Tennessee, home with her two oldest children, Matthew and Jaime. A car driven by 19-year-old Mark White crossed the center line and struck Mandrell’s Jaguar head-on. White was killed. Matthew and Jaime escaped with comparatively minor injuries. Barbara did not. Her right femur was broken. Her ankle was fractured. She suffered knee injuries, cuts and a significant concussion. Doctors later inserted a metal rod into her thigh to stabilize the femur. The head injury brought severe headaches and neurological effects that Mandrell would describe as particularly difficult for both her and her family. For someone whose stage shows depended on movement, dancing and playing multiple instruments, recovery meant more than waiting for bones to heal. Concerts disappeared from the calendar. Doctors initially warned that she could be offstage for six to eight months. Mandrell later admitted that there were moments when she wondered whether she would ever sing professionally again. But the career did not end on that highway. She returned to the recording studio in 1985. More hit records followed, including “There’s No Love in Tennessee,” “Fast Lanes and Country Roads” and “Angel in Your Arms.” By 1986 she was performing live again, eventually resuming touring, television work and acting. The crash also followed her in a less expected way. A legal action connected to insurance claims produced harsh publicity because it formally named the dead driver’s family. Mandrell’s attorney and White’s father both explained publicly that the action was a procedural step aimed at insurance coverage, not an attempt to take money from the family, but the misunderstanding damaged her image with some fans. So the accident left two kinds of rehabilitation. One was physical: learning what her injured leg and head would allow her to do again. The other was public. Years later, Mandrell could point to the records, concerts and television work that came afterward. The Jaguar was gone, the touring calendar had been interrupted, and one family had lost a son — but September 11, 1984 did not become the final date on Barbara Mandrell’s stage career.

BUCK OWENS HADN’T HAD A No. 1 COUNTRY HIT IN MORE THAN FIFTEEN YEARS. THEN DWIGHT YOAKAM ASKED HIM TO SING ONE OLD BAKERSFIELD SONG — AND PUT HIM BACK ON TOP. By the mid-1980s, Buck Owens no longer needed another hit to prove anything. He had already built one of the defining catalogs in country music, taken the Bakersfield sound national, recorded with the Buckaroos, and spent years on television through Hee Haw. But his recording career had faded badly during the 1970s. By the time a younger Kentucky-born singer named Dwight Yoakam started making noise in Los Angeles, Buck was largely outside the center of country radio. Yoakam was not. His 1986 debut Guitars, Cadillacs, Etc., Etc. helped bring hard-edged honky-tonk back into mainstream country. And the sound he was reviving owed a clear debt to Owens. Yoakam spoke openly about Buck’s influence and helped introduce Bakersfield country to listeners who had not been around for its original run. Then Yoakam reached backward. He wanted to record “Streets of Bakersfield,” a song Buck had already cut years earlier. This time, Yoakam asked Buck to sing it with him. Owens agreed. The pairing worked because neither man tried to make the record sound like a museum piece. Buck’s voice sat beside Dwight’s as if the fifteen-plus years between their chart peaks were not there. Released in 1988, “Streets of Bakersfield” went all the way to No. 1. It gave Dwight another major hit. For Buck Owens, it was something else: his first country chart-topper since the early 1970s, and a return to the very radio audience that had moved on from him years before. The success pulled Buck back into recording for a time. New albums followed, including Hot Dog! and Act Naturally. But the bigger consequence had already happened. A younger artist had not simply covered the Bakersfield sound. He had gone back to one of the men who built it, put him beside him at the microphone, and carried him back to No. 1.

TERRI CLARK MOVED FROM CANADA TO NASHVILLE AT 18 AND STARTED SINGING FOR TIPS AT TOOTSIE’S. SHE COULD SEE THE COUNTRY-MUSIC BUSINESS AROUND HER — BUT IT TOOK NEARLY EIGHT YEARS BEFORE ANY LABEL LET HER THROUGH THE DOOR. Terri Clark left Medicine Hat, Alberta, for Nashville as a teenager with little more than a guitar and a very clear idea of what she wanted. Soon after arriving, she walked into **Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge**, the famous honky-tonk across the alley from the Ryman Auditorium, asked if she could sing and landed work performing for tips. It was her first professional Nashville gig. The location made the situation almost cruelly appropriate. Tootsie’s sat in the middle of country-music mythology, close enough to the Ryman and Music Row to make Nashville success feel physically nearby. Clark later remembered playing those clubs hoping that somebody from the industry might hear her voice drifting out and offer her a record deal. Nobody did. For years, she kept singing while taking whatever work helped pay the bills. She waited tables, worked as a secretary, painted houses, worked retail and tended bar. One contemporary profile put the wait at roughly **eight years** between her arrival in Nashville and the record deal she had come there to find. There were days when even Tootsie’s barely paid. Clark has recalled taking a city bus downtown with her guitar to work the daytime shift and occasionally walking out with only a few dollars in tips because almost nobody had come through the bar. Still, the years were doing something a demo tape could not. She was learning how to hold a room. A producer who heard Clark at Tootsie’s eventually passed a tape to manager Woody Bowles. She continued developing for several more years, and in 1994 Mercury Nashville finally signed her. Then the pace changed almost immediately. Her debut single, **“Better Things to Do,”** arrived in 1995 and climbed to No. 3 on the U.S. country chart. “When Boy Meets Girl” and “If I Were You” followed into the Top 10, while her self-titled debut album eventually went platinum. Clark had written or co-written almost the entire record herself. The following year alone, she spent more than **260 days on the road**. That number says more about the turnaround than almost anything else. For most of her twenties, Terri Clark had been working Nashville bars while waiting for somebody in the industry to notice. Once they finally did, the problem was no longer finding somewhere to sing. It was finding enough days in the year to play all the places that suddenly wanted her.

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BUCK OWENS HADN’T HAD A No. 1 COUNTRY HIT IN MORE THAN FIFTEEN YEARS. THEN DWIGHT YOAKAM ASKED HIM TO SING ONE OLD BAKERSFIELD SONG — AND PUT HIM BACK ON TOP. By the mid-1980s, Buck Owens no longer needed another hit to prove anything. He had already built one of the defining catalogs in country music, taken the Bakersfield sound national, recorded with the Buckaroos, and spent years on television through Hee Haw. But his recording career had faded badly during the 1970s. By the time a younger Kentucky-born singer named Dwight Yoakam started making noise in Los Angeles, Buck was largely outside the center of country radio. Yoakam was not. His 1986 debut Guitars, Cadillacs, Etc., Etc. helped bring hard-edged honky-tonk back into mainstream country. And the sound he was reviving owed a clear debt to Owens. Yoakam spoke openly about Buck’s influence and helped introduce Bakersfield country to listeners who had not been around for its original run. Then Yoakam reached backward. He wanted to record “Streets of Bakersfield,” a song Buck had already cut years earlier. This time, Yoakam asked Buck to sing it with him. Owens agreed. The pairing worked because neither man tried to make the record sound like a museum piece. Buck’s voice sat beside Dwight’s as if the fifteen-plus years between their chart peaks were not there. Released in 1988, “Streets of Bakersfield” went all the way to No. 1. It gave Dwight another major hit. For Buck Owens, it was something else: his first country chart-topper since the early 1970s, and a return to the very radio audience that had moved on from him years before. The success pulled Buck back into recording for a time. New albums followed, including Hot Dog! and Act Naturally. But the bigger consequence had already happened. A younger artist had not simply covered the Bakersfield sound. He had gone back to one of the men who built it, put him beside him at the microphone, and carried him back to No. 1.

TERRI CLARK MOVED FROM CANADA TO NASHVILLE AT 18 AND STARTED SINGING FOR TIPS AT TOOTSIE’S. SHE COULD SEE THE COUNTRY-MUSIC BUSINESS AROUND HER — BUT IT TOOK NEARLY EIGHT YEARS BEFORE ANY LABEL LET HER THROUGH THE DOOR. Terri Clark left Medicine Hat, Alberta, for Nashville as a teenager with little more than a guitar and a very clear idea of what she wanted. Soon after arriving, she walked into **Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge**, the famous honky-tonk across the alley from the Ryman Auditorium, asked if she could sing and landed work performing for tips. It was her first professional Nashville gig. The location made the situation almost cruelly appropriate. Tootsie’s sat in the middle of country-music mythology, close enough to the Ryman and Music Row to make Nashville success feel physically nearby. Clark later remembered playing those clubs hoping that somebody from the industry might hear her voice drifting out and offer her a record deal. Nobody did. For years, she kept singing while taking whatever work helped pay the bills. She waited tables, worked as a secretary, painted houses, worked retail and tended bar. One contemporary profile put the wait at roughly **eight years** between her arrival in Nashville and the record deal she had come there to find. There were days when even Tootsie’s barely paid. Clark has recalled taking a city bus downtown with her guitar to work the daytime shift and occasionally walking out with only a few dollars in tips because almost nobody had come through the bar. Still, the years were doing something a demo tape could not. She was learning how to hold a room. A producer who heard Clark at Tootsie’s eventually passed a tape to manager Woody Bowles. She continued developing for several more years, and in 1994 Mercury Nashville finally signed her. Then the pace changed almost immediately. Her debut single, **“Better Things to Do,”** arrived in 1995 and climbed to No. 3 on the U.S. country chart. “When Boy Meets Girl” and “If I Were You” followed into the Top 10, while her self-titled debut album eventually went platinum. Clark had written or co-written almost the entire record herself. The following year alone, she spent more than **260 days on the road**. That number says more about the turnaround than almost anything else. For most of her twenties, Terri Clark had been working Nashville bars while waiting for somebody in the industry to notice. Once they finally did, the problem was no longer finding somewhere to sing. It was finding enough days in the year to play all the places that suddenly wanted her.

WHEN THE FIRST EDITION BROKE UP, KENNY ROGERS SAID IT FELT LIKE HIS LIFE HAD LOST ITS FOOTING. HE WALKED ONSTAGE ALONE, STARTED OVER — AND WITHIN TWO YEARS “LUCILLE” TURNED HIM INTO A SOLO SUPERSTAR. By the mid-1970s, Kenny Rogers was hardly an unknown. The First Edition had already given him major pop and country hits, including “Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)” and “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town.” For years, Rogers had been surrounded by the same musicians, the same road routine and the security of belonging to a group. Then the band ended. The First Edition broke apart in the mid-1970s as its members moved toward separate careers. Rogers later admitted the split hit him harder than outsiders might have expected. “When the First Edition broke up,” he recalled, “it was like my life had just lost all the footing.” For the first time, there was nobody behind him to absorb part of the pressure. Rogers signed with United Artists and began making records under his own name. The first releases produced modest results, but nothing yet suggested that the 38-year-old singer was about to become bigger than he had ever been with a band. Then he heard “Lucille.” Written by Roger Bowling and Hal Bynum, the song told a simple story: a woman leaves her husband in a bar, and the man she leaves with later hears the husband’s side of what happened. Rogers recorded it in 1976. Released the following year, “Lucille” went to No. 1 country and No. 5 pop, won Rogers a Grammy and was named CMA Single of the Year. More importantly, it solved the identity problem. Rogers was no longer the singer from a psychedelic pop group trying to continue on his own. “Lucille” revealed exactly what would carry the next phase of his career: a rough, conversational voice and story songs about ordinary people making painful choices. “The Gambler,” “She Believes in Me” and “Coward of the County” followed soon afterward. Between 1977 and 1987, Rogers accumulated twenty No. 1 country hits. The First Edition had taught Kenny Rogers how to stand in front of an audience. Its breakup forced him to find out what would happen when he had to stand there by himself.