Waylon Wyatt kicks up a cloud of dust and damnation on “Old Habits,” a barroom confession that doubles as a back-alley blues burner. It’s country with a mean streak — part outlaw, part gospel, and all grit.
From the moment the drums drop and that guitar snarls to life, you know this ain’t a redemption song. This is a man who’s been through hell and found a few reasons to hang around. The riff has a bluesy swagger, but the delivery? Pure honky-tonk self-awareness.
The lyrics roll like spilled whiskey — messy, real, and a little dangerous. Wyatt’s not begging for forgiveness, he’s just laying it all out. Drinking, smoking, fighting the same old demons — he knows the drill, and he doesn’t pretend to be anything he’s not. There’s a brutal honesty in that. No pity. No excuses.
His voice is pure Southern-fried gravel, smoked and seasoned with late nights and long drives. He rides the groove like he’s done this dance before — because he has. There’s pain in his tone, but also a kind of pride. You can’t fake this kind of wear and tear.
Musically, “Old Habits” struts more than it stumbles. It’s tight, but with just enough looseness to feel alive — a cracked snare here, a wild lick there. The band feels like a crew of outlaws that could hold their own in a knife fight or a jam session.
The video’s stripped-down and moody — shots of dive bars, dirt roads, and Waylon in his element, looking like he just buried something he’s not gonna talk about. The visual tone is rough-hewn and honest, which suits the song to a T.
Final Verdict:
“Old Habits” doesn’t ask for your understanding — it dares you to judge it. Waylon Wyatt delivers a dirty, honest, and damn good tune that rides the line between sin and salvation like a busted pickup with a half tank and nothing to lose. This is outlaw music the way it oughta be: raw, unrepentant, and real as hell.
