Built From Grit – Cody Johnson Sings for the Rebuilders of Blanco County
The Event: Music Where the Mud Still Clings
On August 31, the skies had finally cleared over Blanco County — but the damage remained. Roads were torn, fences ripped from the earth, and entire barns sat collapsed in silence.
Yet in the middle of this mess, under a patchwork tent on a ranch still drying out, Cody Johnson plugged in his guitar.
The event wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t even advertised.
It was a private gathering of ranchers, neighbors, and volunteers who had spent the past two weeks knee-deep in water and hard choices. It was hosted by the Blanco Cattlemen’s Association, on land still scarred by debris and broken tools.
Cody didn’t arrive with fanfare. He rolled up in a dusty pickup, shook every hand he could, and then stepped onto a make-do plywood stage with nothing more than his guitar and a cooler full of Gatorade behind him.
He opened with some old favorites — “Dear Rodeo,” “Me and My Kind.” But it was the fourth song that landed like lightning across the dry Texas air.
“This next one’s for anyone who didn’t wait around. Who got back on their feet before the mud even dried.”
Then he sang “’Til You Can’t.”
The Song: “’Til You Can’t” – A Push Forward, Even When It Hurts
Released in 2021, “’Til You Can’t” quickly became Cody Johnson’s defining anthem.
With its mix of urgent lyrics and thunderous delivery, the song became a reminder to act while you still have the chance — to love, repair, call, build, and fight — before it’s too late.
“If you got a chance, take it…
Take it while you got a chance.
If you got a dream, chase it…
Cause a dream won’t chase you back.”
The lyrics, powerful in any context, hit a different nerve in a place like Blanco.
For days, families had been digging livestock out of ditches, repairing gates, and calling insurance lines that never answered. Many felt on the edge of quitting.
But Cody’s voice — raw and full of the same dirt those boots had walked through — rang out like a personal challenge.
You don’t rebuild later.
You rebuild now.
You don’t wait for the system to come.
You lift your neighbor, raise the post, hammer the board — now.
It wasn’t just a song that night.
It was a motto.
It was the line between despair and resolve.
As the crowd stood in sweat and dust, someone shouted, “That’s our anthem now.” And for once, no one disagreed.