R-E-S-P-E-C-T

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Catholic Rock Band Reunion Tour

I began my informal training as a songstress/vocal stylist at a very early age.  Most likely ten or so.  I would witness my mother on Saturday mornings as she put away her babushka and took off her shoes and sang like an angel to the oldies station.  All the while cleaning the house, making a meal and warning me of the hazards of running with staple guns.

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YouTube Tube Socks (Photo credit: Dan Patterson)

Like any child star, I hit the drugs pretty bad.  The fame and lack of fortune only added fuel to my chaotic frame of mal-contempt. The sing a long’s with Cher and Sonny and me…’I got you babe’ became a thing of the past.

My devoutly dramatic catholic parents felt folk group and a baritone named Ruth were just what the Pope would order and/or at least preach.

One thing led to another and I fit in with other proprietor’s in Name that Tune Christian style.  Jim Nabors ballads and John Denver‘s sunny lyrics replaced Iggy Pop, the Dead Kennedys and the Sex Pistols.

Now, years later, I find that I still have the knack for White Girl‘s Can’t Sing the Blues.  I’ve constructed a listing of the best songs to ride your bike to, spank the monkey with and pull a John Deere with.

Course, I never remember the songs and only part of the lyrics…must be that last hit of acid I did.  No matter even Brittany Spears had to start by being a mouse.

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Lauryn Hill at Central Park (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Pressing Charges

by

Super Blonde

Last week she took all my money
And it may sound funny
But I come to get my money back

I got rhythm, I got music
I got my girl
Who could ask for anything more?

Throw a brick thru’ a sucker ass nigga glasshouse – wit cho’
I know the time comin
Child support gonna bust in and try to find something – but no!
My baby momma just don’t understand,
I ain’t rich bitch it’s just an advance – but she know
She better off wit some of these nigs
Whose baby dykes don’t even care for these kids

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I got my girl
Who could ask for anything more?

So you start walking over to her house
and you get over to her house
and you walk over to her door and
you start poundin on her door and you say
“Open up the door bitch!”
This is wooba gooba with the green teeth, let me in!!”

I got rhythm, I got music

I got my girl

Who could ask for anything more?

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I ain’t innocent, Jesus walked me to the grammies
thank you god, now i can sin again

I ain’t innocent, Jesus walked me to the grammies
thank you god, now i can sin again

You don’t tug on Superman’s cape
You don’t spit into the wind
You don’t pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger

and you don’t mess around with Slim

……Que Sera, sera….

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