Last week when we were driving I was singing along to Madonna’s Into the Groove and I was like, “You can dance, perspiration” and Victor was like, “Are you kidding me? It’s ‘You can dance…for inspiration” but I was pretty sure mine was right because you’re way more likely to produce sweat than inspiration, but when I checked Victor had apparently already hacked into the internet and changed the lyrics. This happens almost once a day but the most recent account was when I saw singing along to Pour Some Sugar on Me on a bus and Victor just stared at me in awe, probably because he was so proud that I was blessing people on the bus with my lovely voice, but then he was like, “Are your ears just broken? Are you fucking these songs up on purpose?” (Answers: Yes, No.)
And a few of the lines I realized were suspect because “You got the peaches, I got a cream…sweet to taste. Vaseline” sounds not right but I was pretty sure I nailed the rest of it but turns out I had almost every line wrong.
Also, I’ve seen Def Leppard in concert and loudly sang this song with a crowd. Awesome.
PS. In case you’re wondering, below are the real words to the song as far as I’m concerned because I’ve been singing them wrong for too long and now have no way to unlearn them:
Yellow’s like a bomb!
Loving tiger balm, baby come and get it on,
Living like a lover in a red eye phone.
Lookin’ like a champ, like bitty old vamp,
Demo-licious woman, can I be a man?
Razzle in your dazzle and a dance in daily life,
Television lover baby, go all night.
Sun time, anytime, sugar be sweet.
Little Mrs. innocent, sugar me.
So come on. Take your body, and shake it off.
Break the Bible. Break it up.
Pour some sugar on me, in the name of love.
Pour some sugar on me. Come on, fight me up.
Pour your sugar on me. I can’t get enough.
I’m a hot, sticky Swede. From my hand to my feets, yeah.
Listen! Red light, yellow light, green light, gold,
Crazy leather woman in a one man show.
Marrow queen, many keen, rhythm of her love.
Sweet dreams, sangarine, listen up. Yeah. Listen up.
You gotta squeeze a little, please a little, tease a little love,
Easy operator, never knocking on my door.
Sun time, andy time, sugar be sweet,
Little Mrs. Innocent, sugar me. Yeah oh. Give a little love.
You got the peaches,
I got a cream.
Sweet to taste. Vaseline!
Cause I’m hot, hot, so hot, sticky sweet, from my hand, hand, hand, to my feet.
Do lips take sugar?
One look, one towel!
PPS. In my defense, this is what happens when you learn a song in junior high by listening to it a million times on a worn-out cassette you recorded from a staticky radio station.
And now…time for the weekly wrap-up!
Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):
- Rory and Juanita high fiving book bag.
- Hailey needed a spiral notebook for school. You can get one too.
- I want a whole couch made of these.
- “Best Depression Books of 2017.” That’s a weird award. But I’ll take it.
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