About the Song

In the realm of country music, Toby Keith stands as a towering figure, a true American icon. His music, infused with a rugged patriotism and a deep appreciation for the simple pleasures of life, has resonated with millions of listeners worldwide. Among his vast repertoire of hits, “Good To Go To Mexico” holds a special place, capturing the spirit of wanderlust and the allure of sun-kissed shores.

Released in 2002, “Good To Go To Mexico” is an upbeat, infectiously catchy tune that paints a vivid picture of escape to a tropical paradise. Keith’s signature twangy vocals intertwine seamlessly with the lively guitar riffs and mariachi-inspired instrumentation, creating an irresistible soundscape that transports listeners to a land of warm breezes, margaritas, and endless possibilities.

The song’s lyrics, penned by Keith and Chuck Cannon, are a testament to the power of music to transport us beyond our daily routines and into a world of carefree revelry. Keith paints a picture of a world weary individual, yearning for a respite from the drudgery of everyday life. The chorus, a simple yet powerful declaration of liberation, serves as an anthem for anyone seeking to escape the confines of their routine and embrace the joys of adventure:

“I’m packin’ my bags, I’m headin’ south Good to go to Mexico Where the tequila flows and the music’s loud Good to go to Mexico”

“Good To Go To Mexico” is more than just a catchy tune; it’s an invitation to shed our worries and embrace the spirit of adventure. It’s a reminder that life is too short to be spent bogged down by the mundane, and that sometimes, the best medicine is a change of scenery and a margarita on the beach.

So, the next time you find yourself feeling weighed down by the cares of the world, crank up the volume on “Good To Go To Mexico” and let Toby Keith transport you to a place where worries melt away and the only thing that matters is the next sip of your margarita. After all, as Keith so eloquently reminds us, “It’s always a good time to go to Mexico.”

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Lyrics: Good To Go To Mexico

I can feel a chill of a cold November wind
Here in Oklahoma that means it is wintertime again
Every time I think about the rain and sleet and snow
I start dreamin’ about siestas underneath this sombrero[Chorus 1:]
Baby if you’re good to go we’ll go down to Mexico
Get a place in Cabo, kick back in the sand
It’ll be just you and me and moonlight dancing on the sea
To Spanish guitar melody of a mariachi bandI got two tickets bought
There won’t be no second thought
Weather’s always nice down there in paradise
We’ll find that little man who owns that taco stand
We’ll be drinkin’ margaritas while we’re workin’ on our tan[Chorus 2:]
Baby if you’re good to go we’ll go down to Mexico
Get a place in Cabo, kick back in the sand
If you’ll get off that telephone and put your shorts and sandals on
Tomorrow we’ll be dancing to a mariachi bandCancun don’t get me high
That’s where the snow birds fly
They like to winter there
Then they come from everywhere
I’ll take the Baja sun
It ain’t overrun
With the gringos and the touristas
We might be the only ones

[Repeat Chorus 1 (x2)]

You Missed

A BROKEN CONSOLE GAVE MARTY ROBBINS’ “DON’T WORRY” A SOUND NOBODY COULD RECREATE. SO AN ENGINEER BUILT A DEVICE TO COPY THE MISTAKE — AND FUZZ GUITAR WAS BORN. Grady Martin sat in a Nashville studio with a six-string Danelectro bass, expecting to lay down a standard session. Instead, a transformer inside the recording console gave up the ghost. It sputtered and spat, shredding the signal into a jagged, compressed roar that defied the clean, polished aesthetic of the era. Rather than pulling the plug, Robbins and engineer Glenn Snoddy kept the take. They knew the electricity felt raw, dangerous, and entirely alive. When the record hit the airwaves in 1961, musicians swarmed the booth asking how they had coaxed such a sound from the iron. The truth was far more mundane: it was a mechanical failure that vanished as soon as the broken desk was repaired. Snoddy spent months chasing that phantom resonance, tearing apart circuits and twisting wires in a desperate attempt to capture the lightning he had accidentally bottled during those few minutes of tracking. Eventually, he teamed with Revis Hobbs to manufacture the defect. They built a transistor circuit to replicate the clipping signal, birthing the Maestro FZ-1 Fuzz-Tone. What started as a piece of dying equipment in a country studio became the sonic signature of rock and roll. The distortion lived on, divorced from the original machine, lingering in the static of every feedback-heavy solo that followed long after the console was discarded.

BUCK OWENS WAS SO TERRIFIED OF MANHATTAN THAT HE ALMOST TURNED DOWN THE CHANCE TO PLAY THE MOST FAMOUS STAGE IN THE WORLD. By the spring of 1966, Buck Owens was the undisputed king of the airwaves. His records didn’t just top the charts; they defined a new, muscular strain of country music born in the dance halls of Bakersfield. While Nashville was busy adding strings and polishing edges to court pop audiences, Buck stayed true to the biting twang of his Telecaster and the relentless drive of his band, the Buckaroos. He was a force of nature in California, but the thought of carrying that raw sound into the hallowed halls of New York City rattled him to his core. He actually instructed his manager to decline the invitation to Carnegie Hall. He didn’t believe the Manhattan crowd would understand the Bakersfield sound, fearing his music would die in that cavernous, high-brow room. When he finally walked onto that stage on March 25, he didn’t bring a watered-down version of his act. He brought Don Rich on fiddle, Tom Brumley on steel, and a rhythmic precision that had been tempered by thousands of hours of playing roadhouses. They tore through the set with a jagged, high-octane intensity that didn’t require a single edit for the live album. There was no pretense, no apology, and no Nashville smoothing. By the time they finished, the urban elite were left with nothing to do but listen to the honest, unvarnished truth of a working man’s music vibrating off the walls.

A KENTUCKY BASEMENT DEMO RECORDED ON A HANDHELD DEVICE BROKE NASHVILLE’S POLISHED MACHINE AND CHANGED COUNTRY RADIO FOREVER. In 1999, the Nashville establishment was drowning in pop-leaning, heavily produced crossover records that kept their distance from the rural grit of Kentucky. When label executives finally arrived at Troy Gentry’s mother’s house, they weren’t looking for a revolution; they were just checking the inventory. Sitting on folding chairs, they held a cheap handheld recorder, capturing the raw, bluegrass-leaning bones of “Hillbilly Shoes.” It was supposed to be a polite audition, but Eddie Montgomery and Troy Gentry were playing with an intensity that didn’t know how to keep quiet. They didn’t want the polish. They wanted the friction of George Jones rubbed against the serrated edge of Lynyrd Skynyrd. When they hit the studio, they injected electric teeth into those bluegrass skeletons, layering thick rock riffs and sawing fiddles over a rhythm section that hit like a physical force. The song hit Billboard charts two weeks before it was even scheduled for release, effectively forcing the label’s hand and moving the entire release date of their debut album forward. By the time the 2000 CMA Awards rolled around, the industry had no choice but to recognize the shift. The duo snatched the Vocal Duo of the Year title, ending an eight-year dynasty. That trophy was a heavy, cold reminder that authentic, boot-mudded country had finally reclaimed its rightful territory.