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Country

Some Kinda Good Kinda (Hold On Me) – Toby Keith

About the Song

Toby Keith is an American country music singer, songwriter, and record producer. He has released 19 studio albums, 3 live albums, 2 compilation albums, and 59 singles. Keith has sold over 40 million albums worldwide and has won numerous awards, including the American Music Award for Favorite Male Country Artist and the Academy of Country Music Award for Top Male Vocalist.

“Some Kinda Good Kinda Hold On Me” is a song written by Toby Keith and Chuck Cannon. It was released in 1993 as the second single from Keith’s album “Toby Keith”. The song reached number one on the Billboard Hot Country Singles & Tracks chart and number 11 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

“Some Kinda Good Kinda Hold On Me” is a mid-tempo country song with a catchy melody and lyrics about a man who is in love with a woman who has a strong hold on him. The song’s lyrics are simple but effective, and Keith’s vocals are passionate and sincere. The song is a perfect example of Keith’s ability to write and perform songs that are both relatable and entertaining.

The song’s success helped to make Keith a star in the country music industry. It was one of the most played songs on country radio in 1993, and it helped to introduce Keith to a wider audience. The song’s popularity also helped to launch Keith’s career as a songwriter. He has since written songs for other artists, including Garth Brooks, Trace Adkins, and Sammy Hagar.

“Some Kinda Good Kinda Hold On Me” is a classic country song that is sure to continue to be enjoyed by fans for years to come. It is a song that is both relatable and entertaining, and it is a perfect example of Keith’s talent as a songwriter and performer.

Some interesting facts about the song:

  • The song was inspired by Keith’s wife, Tricia Lucus.
  • The song’s music video was directed by Michael Salomon.
  • The song was featured in the 1994 film “The Cowboy Way”.

If you’re a fan of country music, then you should definitely check out “Some Kinda Good Kinda Hold On Me” by Toby Keith. It’s a classic song that is sure to become a favorite.

Video

Lyrics: Some Kinda Good Kinda (Hold On Me)

She’s got some kinda good kinda hold on me
She’s some kinda fine sho-nuff sweet
Wrapped up in her love is I wanna be
She’s got some kinda good kinda hold on meI can’t get enough of my baby’s huggin’ and kissin’
I never knew a girl who could do what she’s doing to me
With just one touch she cast a spell
I’m tangled up, I can’t help myselfShe’s got some kinda good kinda hold on me
She’s some kinda fine sho-nuff sweet
Wrapped up in her love is I wanna be
She’s got some kinda good kinda hold on me

The boys call me up and want to tell me
About the fun I’ve been missing
They want to know why I let her keep me under
Lock and key
But I got what they’re looking for
When she gets me behind close doors

She’s got some kinda good kinda hold on me
She’s some kinda fine sho-nuff sweet
Wrapped up in her love is I wanna be
She’s got some kinda good kinda hold on me

She’s got some kinda good kinda hold on me
She’s some kinda fine sho-nuff sweet
Wrapped up in her love is I wanna be
She’s got some kinda good kinda hold on me

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HIS FATHER TOLD HIM TO PUT DOWN THE GUITAR. NASHVILLE FORGOT HIM. TWICE. HE CAME BACK IN A WHEELCHAIR AND STILL WOULDN’T SHUT UP. Vern Gosdin grew up hauling rocks and chopping cotton in Woodland, Alabama. His father tried music once, failed, and forbade his son from ever touching a guitar. Vern left home and never looked back — never saw his father again. He moved to California. Then Chicago. Then Nashville. Two record labels went bankrupt under him. Nobody called. Nobody came looking. So he quit, moved to Georgia, and sold glass for a living. But he kept a guitar in his truck. In the late ’70s, he crawled back to Nashville — older, broker, and angrier than every pretty boy on country radio. He didn’t sound trendy. He sounded like a man who’d been through hell and could prove it. Then he wrote “Chiseled in Stone” and beat every superstar in town for CMA Song of the Year. Tammy Wynette called him “the only singer who can hold a candle to George Jones.” In 1998, a stroke stole his voice. He kept writing from a wheelchair. 101 songs. Still fighting. They called him “The Voice.” Nashville called him too late. Does knowing how many times Vern Gosdin had to start over make “Chiseled in Stone” hit even harder now?

THEY LOOKED LIKE FOUR OUTLAWS WHO COULD OUTRUN TIME ITSELF. BUT WHEN YOU WATCH THE HIGHWAYMEN SING “BIG RIVER” TODAY, THE EMPTY MICROPHONES BREAK YOUR HEART. Onstage, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Willie Nelson looked untouchable. Four weathered men, four different wounds, four voices that made country music sound dangerous, honest, and free. When they traded verses on Cash’s “Big River,” it wasn’t just another performance. It was four old brothers chasing the same song down the same river, each one carrying a piece of the road in his voice. Cash brought the thunder. Waylon brought the grit. Kris brought the broken-poet soul. Willie floated above it all with that calm, aching grace only he could carry. Back then, the stage lights made it easy to believe they would always be there. That was the beautiful lie of watching legends stand side by side. But time does what no outlaw ever could: it catches everyone. Today, Cash is gone. Waylon is gone. Kris has crossed the river too. Willie is the only one left, still playing, still standing, still carrying a brotherhood that can never fully gather again. That is why “Big River” feels different now. It is no longer just a song about chasing something you cannot hold. It feels like time itself moving past four men we were not ready to lose. The song remains. But three microphones are empty. Does “Big River” feel heavier now that Willie is the only one left to sing it?

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HIS FATHER TOLD HIM TO PUT DOWN THE GUITAR. NASHVILLE FORGOT HIM. TWICE. HE CAME BACK IN A WHEELCHAIR AND STILL WOULDN’T SHUT UP. Vern Gosdin grew up hauling rocks and chopping cotton in Woodland, Alabama. His father tried music once, failed, and forbade his son from ever touching a guitar. Vern left home and never looked back — never saw his father again. He moved to California. Then Chicago. Then Nashville. Two record labels went bankrupt under him. Nobody called. Nobody came looking. So he quit, moved to Georgia, and sold glass for a living. But he kept a guitar in his truck. In the late ’70s, he crawled back to Nashville — older, broker, and angrier than every pretty boy on country radio. He didn’t sound trendy. He sounded like a man who’d been through hell and could prove it. Then he wrote “Chiseled in Stone” and beat every superstar in town for CMA Song of the Year. Tammy Wynette called him “the only singer who can hold a candle to George Jones.” In 1998, a stroke stole his voice. He kept writing from a wheelchair. 101 songs. Still fighting. They called him “The Voice.” Nashville called him too late. Does knowing how many times Vern Gosdin had to start over make “Chiseled in Stone” hit even harder now?

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THEY LOOKED LIKE FOUR OUTLAWS WHO COULD OUTRUN TIME ITSELF. BUT WHEN YOU WATCH THE HIGHWAYMEN SING “BIG RIVER” TODAY, THE EMPTY MICROPHONES BREAK YOUR HEART. Onstage, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Willie Nelson looked untouchable. Four weathered men, four different wounds, four voices that made country music sound dangerous, honest, and free. When they traded verses on Cash’s “Big River,” it wasn’t just another performance. It was four old brothers chasing the same song down the same river, each one carrying a piece of the road in his voice. Cash brought the thunder. Waylon brought the grit. Kris brought the broken-poet soul. Willie floated above it all with that calm, aching grace only he could carry. Back then, the stage lights made it easy to believe they would always be there. That was the beautiful lie of watching legends stand side by side. But time does what no outlaw ever could: it catches everyone. Today, Cash is gone. Waylon is gone. Kris has crossed the river too. Willie is the only one left, still playing, still standing, still carrying a brotherhood that can never fully gather again. That is why “Big River” feels different now. It is no longer just a song about chasing something you cannot hold. It feels like time itself moving past four men we were not ready to lose. The song remains. But three microphones are empty. Does “Big River” feel heavier now that Willie is the only one left to sing it?

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