Introduction

In the realm of soulful ballads, few songs possess the timeless appeal and emotional resonance that Otis Redding’s ‘Cigarettes And Coffee’ does. This soulful masterpiece, released in 1966, continues to captivate audiences with its evocative lyrics and Redding’s unmistakably powerful voice. Join us on a journey to explore the depths of this classic, learning about the artist, the song’s backstory, and its enduring legacy in the world of music.Otis Redding, Author Information, Published Books, Biography, Photos, Videos, and More ☆

Did You Know?

Did you know that Otis Redding, often referred to as the “King of Soul,” was a trailblazing figure in the world of music? Born in 1941 in Dawson, Georgia, he rose to prominence during the 1960s and left an indelible mark on the soul and R&B genres. Tragically, Redding’s life was cut short in a plane crash in 1967, at the tender age of 26, leaving behind a catalog of unforgettable songs, ‘Cigarettes And Coffee’ being one of them.

The song ‘Cigarettes And Coffee’ is a poignant reflection of the soul singer’s extraordinary talent and deep emotional connection with his music. Its lyrics evoke a sense of longing and nostalgia, and when paired with Redding’s soul-stirring voice, they create a profound emotional impact on the listener. This track serves as a testament to Otis Redding’s ability to reach deep into the hearts of his audience.Otis Redding - This Day In Music

Video

Lyrics: Cigarettes And Coffee

It’s early in the morning
About a quarter ’til three
I’m sitting here talking with my baby
Over cigarettes and coffee, now
And to tell you that
Darling I’ve been so satisfied
Honey, since I met you
Baby, since I met you

All the places that I’ve been around
And all the good looking girls I’ve met
They just don’t seem to fit in
Knowing it’s particularly sad, yeah
But it seems so natural, darling
That you and I are here
Just talking over cigarettes and drinking coffee

And oh, my heart cries out
Love at last I’ve found you, oh now
And honey won’t you let me
Just build my whole life around you
And while how complete, how complete my whole life would be, yeah
If you would take things under consideration
And walk down this aisle with me
And I would love it, yeah

People, I say it’s so early in the morning
Ooh, it’s a quarter ’til three
We’re sitting here talking
Over cigarettes and drinking coffee, now, lord
And I’d like to show you, well
I’ve known nothing but good old joy
Since I met you, darling
Honey, since I’ve met you, baby, yeah

I would love to have another drink of coffee, now
And please, darling, help me smoke just one more cigarette, now
I don’t want no cream and sugar
‘Cause I’ve got you now, darling
But just let me enjoy, help me to enjoy
This good time that we’ll have, baby

It’s so early, so early in the morning
So early, so early in the morning
And I’ve got you
And you’ve got me
And we’ll have each other
And we don’t, we don’t want nothing but joy, y’all
Nothing but joy

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BOUND BY A STORMY TIDE OF TOXIC LOYALTY AND DEEP DEVOTION, LORETTA LYNN TURNED HER HUSBAND’S GREATEST DEMONS INTO THE UNFLINCHING ANTHEMS OF WORKING-CLASS AMERICA. When fifteen-year-old Loretta Webb married twenty-one-year-old Oliver “Doolittle” Lynn in 1948, she stepped into a life that would test every ounce of her endurance. It was Doolittle who bought her a modest seventeen-dollar Sears guitar—the very instrument that unlocked her destiny—and pushed a terrified young mother onto stages to share her voice with the world. Without his initial push, the legendary Coal Miner’s Daughter might never have found her path. Yet their domestic reality was a far cry from a romanticized country ballad. Doolittle’s heavy drinking, infidelity, and volatile temper left deep emotional scars, but Loretta refused to break. Instead of retreating, she fought back, stayed for her six children, and funneled that raw, agonizing truth straight into her songwriting. Anthems like “Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’” and “Fist City” ripped the gloss off conventional marriage, giving a public voice to millions of women suffering behind closed doors. She famously noted that every song she wrote carried a piece of her husband inside it. They crossed the milestone of forty-eight years together on January 10, 1996. As Doolittle’s health deteriorated months later, Loretta sang “Wouldn’t It Be Great” to him—the final song she performed for the man who shaped her life before he passed away on August 22, leaving them just 225 days short of their forty-ninth year. Though their union was a turbulent storm of fierce love and deep pain, Doolittle gave her the instrument, their trials gave her the truth, and Loretta forged both into an immortal musical legacy.

BROUGHT IN SOLELY TO SATISFY A RADIO SPONSOR’S ODD DEMAND, ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD ROSE MADDOX STEPPED UP TO THE MICROPHONE AND BECAME THE UNTAMED, ELECTRIFYING HEART OF AMERICA’S MOST COLORFUL HILLBILLY BAND. Rose Maddox didn’t enter country music through a polished Nashville doorway paved with industry blueprints. She arrived via the brutal reality of Depression-era migration, pulling her family away from backbreaking fieldwork in California’s Central Valley where music wasn’t glamour—it was the only way to breathe after a grueling day of picking fruit. In 1937, her brother Fred managed to secure a radio slot for the family in Modesto, hitting a sudden roadblock when the sponsor insisted on having a girl singer. Out of pure necessity rather than career design, eleven-year-old Rose stepped forward. The moment she opened her mouth, however, that simple sponsorship checkbox became the entire focal point. Her voice was bright, razor-sharp, and entirely fearless, sounding less like a child helping out her kin and more like someone kicking the front door off its hinges from the inside. Dubbing themselves “America’s Most Colorful Hillbilly Band,” the Maddox brothers and Rose delivered a high-octane cocktail of honky-tonk drive, boogie-woogie, gospel heat, and flashy road-show swagger. Dressed in loud, eye-catching suits, they played with a raw ferocity that West Coast country had never witnessed. Long before country music knew how to frame women who were funny, stylish, and fiercely commanding, Rose stood right at the front—refusing to ever be treated as mere stage decoration. After the family band’s legendary run dissolved, she forged a formidable solo path, diving deep into bluegrass and earning a well-deserved Grammy nomination for $35 and a Dream, an album title that tipped its hat to her family’s hardscrabble journey west. The young girl once thrown on stage to fill a sponsor’s quota ultimately became the gold standard of raw authenticity—proving to generations of future artists that country music has always possessed an unquenchable fire.