Don Williams – Good Ole Boys Like Me: A Gentle Farewell to a Timeless Reflection of Southern Roots and Identity
Ah, to listen to Don Williams. Just the mention of the man’s name conjures up images of simpler times, of front porch swings and the slow, honest rhythm of life in the American South. For those of us who came of age with his music, songs like “Good Ole Boys Like Me” aren’t just tunes—they are deeply ingrained memories, the soundtrack to decades of life’s quiet moments. It’s fitting, then, that this profound, reflective track was chosen as the very first song in his 2016 Farewell Tour, an emotional journey that marked his final bow before retiring due to health concerns. What a powerful, understated declaration to begin a final run of shows, a gentle but firm statement of who he was, and who his audience was.
The studio version of “Good Ole Boys Like Me” was released in March 1980 as the second single from his album Portrait. Written by the incomparable Bob McDill, a craftsman of vivid, evocative country narratives, the song quickly resonated with listeners. It climbed the charts, peaking at Number 2 on the Billboard Hot Country Singles & Tracks chart in the U.S. and Number 3 on the Canadian RPM Country Tracks chart. While it narrowly missed the top spot, its lasting cultural impact far outweighs any number one hit. It’s a song that speaks to the enduring tension between tradition and change, a theme that touches the soul of anyone who has ever wrestled with the ghosts of their past while trying to navigate the complexities of the modern world.
The genius of McDill’s lyric, delivered with Williams’ characteristic warm, soft-spoken baritone, lies in its rich tapestry of Southern allusion. We’re immediately placed in the narrator’s childhood home where Uncle Reis tucks him in beneath a picture of Stonewall Jackson—a complex, historical figure who immediately grounds the song in the Southern experience. Then, the poignant image of his father: a good man who “came in to kiss his little man with gin on his breath and a Bible in his hand.” It’s a masterstroke of subtlety, capturing the often-contradictory nature of Southern life—the blend of fervent religiosity and human frailty, the honor passed down through generations alongside the struggles of everyday life.
But this song is far more than a collection of images; it’s a meditation on identity and fate. The narrator grows up, absorbing the regional culture—the soft Southern winds, the comforting sounds of John R and the Wolfman on the radio, the literary whispers of Thomas Wolfe. He watches a friend “burn himself up on bourbon and speed” but chooses a different path, learning to “talk like the man on the six o’clock news.” He tries to move away, to modernize, to distance himself from the confines of his small-town upbringing. Yet, no matter how far he travels, the memories and the spirit of his homeland follow, clinging to him like the scent of “cape jasmine through the window screen.”
This is the meaning that makes the song so special, particularly to an older generation: the realization, beautifully expressed in the refrain, that “I guess we’re all gonna be what we’re gonna be, so what do you do with good ole boys like me?” It’s not just about Southern pride; it’s a universal question about accepting one’s inherent nature and the indelible mark of one’s origins. It’s about the simple, profound truth that we are products of our past. To open his final tour with this song was Don Williams‘ humble, soulful affirmation to his loyal audience: I am one of you. I am a good ole boy, and this is my story, which is also yours. As we reflect on his passing and his incredible career, this song remains a powerful, emotional reminder of The Gentle Giant’s lasting legacy and the deep connection he forged with everyone who cherished the simple, honest beauty of his music.