Here are fifteen chord progressions that have been used for decades. Tried and true. Pick any of these, or make your own -- whatever fits right to you.
Every one of them turns up in songs you'd know. Every one of them also gets stuck sometimes, and you have to walk away. That's chord progressions for you — they're a starting point, not a song.
This post is the cheat sheet I wish someone had handed me when I was 18 and trying to write my first real song. Fifteen patterns, what each one's for, and audio so you can actually hear them instead of just reading chord names on a screen.
If one of these sparks something, that's the whole point. (And if you want to try a progression with your own lyrics, you can do that at SongFriend — type what you're feeling, pick a vibe, and it builds a verse + chorus around one of these patterns.)
This is the most-used chord progression in pop music history. Let It Be. Don't Stop Believin'. No Woman No Cry. Someone Like You. All four chords, this exact order, in different keys.
Why it works: every chord pulls you to the next one with a sense of resolution but never quite lets you sit still. The Am gives you a moment of doubt before the F pushes you home.
If you've ever sat at a piano and started playing two-handed without thinking, this is what came out. It's the chord progression every kid figures out first, and it's the backbone of doo-wop and 50s pop. Stand By Me. Earth Angel. Heart and Soul itself.
It moves from major to minor to major and back, which is why it has that nostalgic, almost-bittersweet feel even when the song is happy.
The folk-rock standard. Same shape as the upbeat progression but starting somewhere else, which gives it a different center of gravity. Wonderful Tonight lives in this neighborhood. So does most of the singer-songwriter canon from the 70s.
Sounds like something real happened. Not a story being performed, just something being said.
The descending bass line is what does the work here — F to C to Dm to Am pulls you gently downward, which is why this pattern feels like sadness softening into peace. Hymns sit here. So do a lot of slow late-night ballads.
It's not a sad progression exactly. It's a settled one. Acceptance, not defeat.
This one moves. The E to A jump feels like stepping on the gas, and the D pulls you back down before the A picks you up again. Country, classic rock, road songs — they all live here. Take It Easy. Sweet Home Alabama. The "I'm leaving" song.
Cousin to Heart and Soul but with a Dm instead of an F, which softens the whole thing. This is the chord progression that sounds like a high school gym in 1958. Earth Angel. Blue Moon. Goodnight Sweetheart.
The Dm in the third spot makes it ache a little more than Heart and Soul does. It's slower, more longing.
A descending walk in a minor key. Each chord steps down to the next one, which is why this pattern feels like something's slowly closing in. Stairway to Heaven's opening lives near here. So does a lot of film score.
The dominant 7th chords are what give this its swing. A7 isn't quite happy and isn't quite sad — it's cocky. Same with D7 and E7. Together they sound like front porches, hard times, and a smile through it all.
This is the 12-bar blues skeleton. Every Chicago blues song. Sweet Home Chicago. The Thrill Is Gone. Built around variations of these chords.
Same shape as the upbeat & hopeful pattern but in D and taken slow. This is where the honest love songs live. Thinking Out Loud. Perfect. All of Me. It's warm without being sweet — closer to "I know you" than "I love you."
The Bm in the third spot is what does it. It gives the progression somewhere to slow down and mean it, instead of just barreling through to the resolution.
Wistful minor-key opening that resolves to the major at the end. That small brightness after the Em and Am is what does it — not defeated, just quiet. Damien Rice, early Bon Iver, Iron & Wine. Late-night campfire folk.
Works for songs about missing someone, or songs about being okay with missing them. The distance between those two things is smaller than people think.
The "made it through" progression. I-IV-V-I in D, no minor detours, straight up to the resolution and back. Springsteen and U2 territory. The final D landing back home is what makes it feel triumphant instead of just loud.
Use it when the song is about surviving something — or when the chorus needs to be the moment the whole room sings along.
The major 7ths are what make it dreamy — they leave a little unresolved shimmer on every chord. Norah Jones, John Mayer's slower stuff, cinematic pop. Nothing lands hard; everything floats.
Use it when the song is a memory more than an event. When you want the listener to feel like they're looking at the scene through soft light, not standing in it.
The B7 is the whole thing. B7 wants to pull you back to Em but never lets you land — you keep circling. Perfect for anger, or a relationship that won't die and won't work either.
A lot of alt-rock and moody Americana finds itself here. Songs where the point isn't resolution; the point is that there isn't one.
Standard minor-key movement — except that E at the end is major, not Em. That single note change (G# instead of G) is what makes it sting. Amy Winehouse Back to Black territory.
When the song has to hurt, this progression knows how. Don't overuse it; the sting only lands if the rest of the song earns it.
Minor with a Bb thrown in for weight. This isn't sad exactly — sad is lighter than this. It's the sound of grief that's had time to think. Adele's slower material sits near here. So does a lot of Rise Up-era Andra Day.
The Bb is what makes it feel heavy instead of just melancholy. Use it for songs about things that don't get fixed.
Fifteen that have worked for a long time, for a lot of people. Yours might do something different, and that's the whole point.
Pick one. Play it on whatever you have — piano, guitar, your phone, whatever. Don't write anything yet. Just play it until the chord changes start to suggest a melody, a rhythm, a word.
When something starts coming, write it down before you lose it. The progression is the starting point. Your words and your melody are the song.
If it's the words that stall you rather than the chords, I wrote a longer post on what each part of a song is for and how to write the words that go in them. And if a song starts well and then halts halfway, that's nearly always verse two, which has its own five ways out.
If you get stuck on lyrics — that's actually what I built SongFriend for. You type what the song is about, pick one of the chord patterns above (they're all in there as presets), and it gives you a verse and chorus to start from. Then you can tweak anything and make the song yours — just the way you like it. Change the chords if the one you picked isn't sitting right, move a chord onto a different word, and type straight onto the lyric lines to rewrite them. The tool just gets you past the blank page.
Quick honest note: SongFriend uses AI under the hood. I'm not a tech company — I'm a musician who wanted this help for myself, and figured other songwriters might too. The lyrics it generates are a starting point, not a finished song. You're still the writer.
Free to try — one full song, revised to your liking, no card. If one of these fifteen patterns sparked something for you, that's where to take it next.