Introduction
Drowning in Memory: The Haunting Heartache of _If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will) – George Jones_
When it comes to country music that echoes deep personal pain and emotional complexity, few artists capture that depth quite like George Jones. His legendary ability to pour raw feeling into every line finds a chillingly honest expression in If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will) – George Jones, a song that speaks to anyone who’s ever tried—unsuccessfully—to forget someone who left a mark too deep to fade.
Released in 1981 as part of Jones’s album I Am What I Am, this track came at a time when the singer’s personal life was under the spotlight, plagued by struggles and public battles. That real-life hardship makes the song’s weary delivery feel not just believable, but inevitable. Jones doesn’t merely sing this song—he lives inside of it. His voice, rich with weariness and wounded pride, turns each phrase into a confession. And in doing so, he makes you believe every word.
If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will) isn’t just another honky-tonk lament—it’s a study in the slow, quiet ache of loss. The narrator isn’t raging or lashing out; he’s enduring. He’s numbing the pain with alcohol, but knows full well that the deeper pain—the one rooted in memory—is what will eventually undo him. That emotional contradiction is where George Jones shines. His vocal phrasing allows listeners to feel both the temporary escape and the lasting despair in the same breath.
The song’s arrangement is classic Jones—steady, melodic, but understated. The real power lies in the simplicity. There are no flashy solos or grand flourishes. Just a lonely pedal steel and piano lines that mirror the story’s emotional drift. That restraint only amplifies the message, allowing the weight of the lyrics to settle in.
What makes If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will) – George Jones endure decades after its release is its universal truth. It captures a deeply human response to heartbreak—the desperate, quiet coping that’s far more common than dramatic endings. It’s a song for late nights, old regrets, and the haunting realization that time doesn’t heal everything.
For longtime fans of George Jones or those exploring the rich world of traditional country storytelling, this track stands as one of his most honest and unforgettable moments. It reminds us why George was called “The Possum”—because he never had to shout to break your heart. He just had to sing.
Video
Lyrics
The bars are all closed
It’s four in the mornin’
I must have shut ’em all down
By the shape that I’m in
I lay my head on the wheel
And the horn begins honkin’
The whole neighborhood knows
That I’m home drunk again
If drinkin’ don’t kill me
Her memory will
I can’t hold out much longer
The way that I feel
With the blood from my body
I could start my own still
But if drinkin’ don’t kill me
Her memory will
These old bones, they move slow
But so sure of their footsteps
As I trip on the floor
And I lightly touch down
Lord, it’s been ten bottles
Since I tried to forget her
But the mem’ry still lingers
Lyin’ here on the ground
And if drinkin’ don’t kill me
Her memory will
I can’t hold out much longer
The way that I feel
With the blood from my body
I could start my own still
But if drinkin’ don’t kill me
Her memory will