The Worst New “Country” Songs of 2025

Down with Pop Country 48 Comments


We’ve run down the Song of the Year nominees, the Single of the Year nominees, as well as the Album of the Year nominees for 2025. Now it’s time to give the WORST offerings in “country” music their fair due. And no, we’re not holding back our feelings at all. We’re rearing back and letting ’em have it.

WARNING: This exercise isn’t for the faint of heart. But don’t forget, we’re just having fun at the expense of some very bad songs.

Morgan Wallen – “Miami”


I’d rather get brained by a flying deck chair from four stories up than be subjected to another nanosecond of Morgan Wallen’s “Miami.” Categories 5 hurricanes with retired names and dedicated Wikipedia pages have inflicted less catastrophic damage and resulted in fewer post traumatic stress diagnoses than what “Miami” wrought 48 hours after its release. This song is such a disaster, it’s visible from Space.

And of course “Miami” comes with NINE songwriters, though this includes the sainted Hall of Famers Hank Cochran and Dean Dillon, along with Royce Porter who wrote the original “Miami, My Amy” song. But something tells me that Hank Cochran, Dean Dillon, and Keith Whitley never envisioned shitty trap beats, and an electronically-generated chorus line of Oompa Loompas screeching out “Miiiaammmeeee…” over and over when they wrote the song originally. (read full rant)

Graham Barham – “Oil Money”


Ready your rape kits America, because the music of Graham Barham is spreading on social media like a bad rash and infecting your little chickadees faster than an ultra-viral avian flu. It’s easier to find a carton of eggs for under $3 these days than it is to uncover anything of value in Graham Barham’s so-called “music.” This dude oozes affluenza more than a mealy-mouthed little $hit whose parents paid off the local judge after he murdered a family of four drunk in his Bugatti.

Imagine using the most advanced surgical procedures enhanced by cutting-edge AI technology to meticulously isolate and extract the very kernel essence of what made performers like Sam Hunt and Florida Georgia Line so sinister and cringe, and then using the latest bio-engineering to increase the mass of this little piece of evilness until it takes a human form. This is what you get with Graham Barham. It’s absolutely everything that was abhorrent about Bro-Country in a purified, unadulterated state, served to the public with no chaser.

If this guy called a spade a spade and admitted this is nothing more than a bad White boy hip-hop act, then it would be none of our business over here in By God country music. But Graham Barham and the weasel-dicks at Sony who signed this asshole actually legitimately think this is country music. (read full rant)

BigXthaPlug feat. Bailey Zimmerman – “All The Way”


Hey BigXthaButtPlug, just because you’ve got tits the size of Dolly Parton’s and are pre-diabetic like Gary LeVox of Rascal Flatts, that don’t make you country, bud. You can’t just declare yourself country like Michael Scott in The Office declared bankruptcy. You’ve got to do your 10,000 hours, and all you’ve done is shoved Ho-Hos down your gullet and vomited back up straight hip-hop verses that are being label “country” because … well, I’m not exactly sure why. Because the TEMU version of Morgan Wallen is featured on this stupid track?

BigXthaButtPlug isn’t “evolving” country music, he’s breaking it, like literally. There’s a triage of office chairs with busted casters from his visits to Music Row. Good lord don’t let this guy step into the hallowed circle of the Grand Ole Opry stage or he might splinter the boards.

After BigXthaButtPlug had a #1 song in country, I had to explain to my mother what a butt plug was. Wait, “Butt Plug” isn’t actually part of his real name? Maybe it’s a Freudian thing going on because that’s how I read it. Well either way, screw this guy, especially since he made me explain what a butt plug was to my mother for no reason.

Gary LeVox, Akon, De La Ghetto – “Hold The Umbrella.”


I’d rather be stuck on a poop cruise adrift in the Caribbean during a COVID Alpha outbreak, only to de-ship in Cancun and be kidnapped and held for ransom while cartel cronies shove toothpicks up my cuticles than ever suffer another complete second in the audience of this “song.”

Gary LeVox trying to act hip in his wife’s cardigan is about the greatest incidental comedy ever constructed. The irony of LeVox singing “Hold The Umbrella” when the guy can only properly clothe himself in plus-sized ponchos is pretty rich. When you think of the exotic and tropical, do you really think of the Rascal Flatts frontman? The only thing LeVox should be reppin’ is Cracker Barrel since his blood is sawmill gravy.

Don’t know who the other two losers on this song are, but someone should snitch on them to Kristi Noem and get all three swept up in a plain clothes ICE raid and sent to a torture dungeon in El Salvador to sweat away the rest of their lives. Don’t put LeVox in Alligator Alcatraz though. His cholesterol piss would poison the pristine nature of the Everglades.

This song can screw right off.

Dan + Shay – “Back To December”

I heard that Dan + Shay were going viral with their version of Taylor Swift’s song “Back to December,” and decided to give it a quick peep. Next thing I knew, my manhood proceeded to shrivel like a maggot in a microwave, and spontaneously invert into my pelvic region until all that was left was a full-on life-sized Mattel Ken Doll version of a completely featureless man-gina. Thanks Dan + Shay, you twerps.

You crave hearing a new song from Dan + Shay like you crave hearing Christmas music before Halloween. The emasculated tones, the aggressive use of AutoTune, the entirely soul-bereft delivery, it’s everything safe and dull about American music concentrated and purified into its most generic form.

You’d call it a snooze fest, but a sedate, emotionless reaction is not exactly what Dan + Shay’s music inspires. It’s more of a sense of wanting to self-immolate if necessary to permanently and forever remove one’s self from the audience of another single auditory note from this maniacally terrible duo, even if that comes with the complete expiration of one’s life to fulfill this wish. (read full rant)

Kane Brown – 2 Pair

“Gee, Mr. Brown, we know they’re a pair of custom-made $2,500 Lucchese boots. But how did they get up there sideways?”

If Luccheses are the Cadillac of boots, Kane Brown is a pair of returned and remaindered Chinese-made Ariats at the bottom of the clearance bin. The dude’s got a great voice for country, but chooses to use it on a product placement ad that’s so patently terrible, the company being touted publicly distances from it. If you’re going to sell out this hard, at least secure some sponsor cash. But in this instance, even some of Kane Brown’s own fans are like, “It’s a no from me, dog.”

Kane Brown’s caught in this song saying “I feel like Nelly.” You mean you feel like a 50-something washed up rapper who whored himself on the country circuit opening for Florida Georgia Line and has been thrice accused of rape? You might want to check your vitamin supplement routine there, Kane.

Kane Brown looks like a worm. Instead doubling up on his Lucchese boot inventory, and blowing his music budget on a Florida-based video shoot and renting a glorified Catamaran because they can’t afford a yacht, how about they hire a surgeon to fix his face?


© 2025 Saving Country Music

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