Luke, bae, you’re almost 38. Maybe we can put the spring break/picking-up-hot-chicks-and-driving-them-around-in-your-truck songs to bed. You’re married. With children. I think it’s time we start singing about grownup things. Bro-country is a young man’s game. You’re a big boy now. You can mature. It’ll be okay. I have faith in you.