I wrote this song for author Linda Sands' character Jo Jo Beaudreaux, a truck-driving, crime-solving woman featured in "Grand Theft Cargo" and "Precious Cargo."
LYRICS:
VERSE 1
Jo Jo Beaudreaux’s seen her fair share of sadness
She lost her mama; and she watched her lover die.
Jo Jo Beaudreaux, oh, you know she loves her daddy.
And he loves her back with an absolute fierce pride.
Now, Jo Jo Beaudreaux does not go looking for trouble.
But she always comes back to her buddies,
she’s there on the double. She's got a
CHORUS:
Kimber on her ankle. Trouble she can smell.
When things get rough, bad
guys will go to Hell. She’s got a…
Kimber on her ankle. {Come on. Come on.}
Trouble she can smell. {Come on. Come on.}
When things get rough bad guys will go to Hell.
Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo.
Beau dreaux. {Come on. Come on.}
VERSE 2
Jo Jo Beaudreaux drives her truck on the big roads.
Dead-heading and drawing lines ain’t her thing.
Jo Jo Beaudreaux watches lollipops slide on by
And she nNever feeds the bears, that ain’t no lie.
Jo Jo Beaudreaux, you know the girl likes to boogie.
Four-wheel bumper stickers bring her lots of worry.
She’s got a
CHORUS:
Kimber on her ankle. Trouble she can smell.
When things get rough, bad
guys will go to Hell. She’s got a…
Kimber on her ankle. {Come on. Come on.}
Trouble she can smell. {Come on. Come on.}
When things get rough bad guys will go to Hell.
Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo.
Beau dreaux. {Come on. Come on.}
OUTRO:
Kimber on her ankle.
Watch your back door, bad guys.
She’ll find your twenty.
Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo. Jo Jo.
Jo Jo Beaudreaux. {Come on. Come on.}
"What's the worst song you've ever heard that was so bad you can't un-hear it and you just want to slap the hell out of the producers who let it ride anyway?"
This was a question posed on Bakefook by my good friend Craig "Shawboxx" Shaw, a brilliant player of that oversize guitar called The Upright Bass.
His question thus provoked a huge outpouring of song titles from fellow musicians and singers. I could not believe the songs these people did not like and, as is my habit, proceeded to stand up for those songs so maliciously and wrongfully maligned. Makes me wonder about the taste of these people. Are they so elitist they've lost touch with the common man, also known as "the buyer of music"? Geez.
Here are some of the most egregious comments. See how I, as Your Citizen Journalist and Songwriter in Residence, have helpfully included the YouTube videos for you? I know. I am so awesome to be nice like that. Such a fine way to end a Friday evening. You'll sleep good tonight, I garr-on-TEE-it.
Enjoy!
================================================
POSTER COMMENT: Alone Again Naturally — Just a terrible song. Nothing about it is good, including the story.
POSTER COMMENT: 'The Roller Skate Song' by Melanie
Angela Durden I LOVE THE ROLLER SKATE SONG. Smile every time.
================================================
POSTER COMMENT: Monday Monday.
Angela Durden I LOVE MONDAY MONDAY. Practice my harmony every time.
================================================
POSTER COMMENT: You Light Up My Life.
Angela Durden I AGREE WITH YOU, ED, BUT ONLY BECAUSE I HAVEN'T EVER HAD ANYBODY LIGHT UP MY LIFE. (Postscript: Which is a pretty sad commentary on the state of my man interaction and that's all Imma gonna say about dat.)
================================================
POSTER COMMENT: Elvira by the Oakcliff Boys would be a good start. See, the shame wells up in me just because I know it and had to play it.
SECOND POSTER COMMENT: That's the Oak RIDGE Boys, thank you very much.
Angela Durden I love that song, too. Giggle every time.
================================================
POSTER COMMENT: I've heard plenty of really bad songs, but the one I seem to have zero tolerance for, can't stand hearing, and really can't stand playing, is "New York, New York"..... there's just something about it. And I think I can safely say, it's been 38 years since I've had to play it... ;)
Angela Durden I love that song!. I practice my Broadway "top hat and cane" dancing every time.
================================================
POSTER COMMENT: Seasons In The Sun.
Angela Durden WHUT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE? I LOVE THAT SONG.
Since this is January 1, and they say at the beginning of cycles one should revisit challenges and think them through, I have chosen as my topic du jour "Why The Most Brilliant Woman in the World has Man Trouble."
I don't usually divide into categories the men who hit on me. The reason I don't categorize is simple. I find that men are men, no matter with which religious, political, national, age, or socio-economic group they self-identify.
That's why I'm not surprised when I hear about a man — especially one with a public image that is caring and kind and loving and giving and so, so, so supportive of women's rights — being accused of touching the women they care about so much.
Men are men.
It is up to women to give them their boundaries.
Boundaries, by the by, that cannot be legislated in their entirety because even among Rad Fems there is disagreement as to how far a man should be "allowed to go", and when.
That is to say, we all have our needs, and those needs are varied thus causing the confusion in the term "sexual predator".
Before certain women get their panties in a bunch, I shall confirm the following:
There are criminals who will use force to assault women. We have two high-profile men now who fit that bill, pun not intended: Bills* Clinton and Cosby. For awhile, it was only Big Conservative men being named, accused, censored, and fired for touching the women. But then the damn broke open and Big Liberal men began getting named, accused, censored, and fired.
I mean, Tavis Smiley and Dustin Hoffman? Really? I couldn't believe it. I still don't. But guess what? I'm not calling the women liars. Instead, unlike Smiley's employer, I'm waiting for evidence before rushing to judgment.
But this article does not concern the criminals. It concerns normal, regular men. However, I know you are eager to get back to the most important part of this story: Me.
I have a confession.
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World, that is, me, is often a little slow on the uptake when it comes to men. There is a reason for that: I'm a twelve-year-old girl.
What I mean by that is this: My spirit is twelve. Most girls that age have a huge interest and excitement in things around them. Sex has not yet entered into the picture. Sure, they have crushes, but those are excitingly academic.
They study the male as if it were a butterfly pinned under a microscope. They admire the colors and the shape and they ooh and ahh over it and think One day I will be with a butterfly and go on great adventures, but then they turn off the light and move on from the microscope to something else like, clothes or shoes or writing in their diary or picking yet another career they desperately want to be when they grow up or begging for the newest gee-gaw girls that age want.
I'm in need of an indulgent daddy.
You know how hard those are to find?
See? I'm twelve.
But Far Right, Far Left, Conservative, Liberal, Socialist, Fascist, Communist, and pussy-whipped grown men don't know that little fact. And I've been hit on by every single one, from twenty-five to ninety, each of whom say the same damn thing:
"Oh, Angela, I can tell we are two of a kind."
Then it never fails — and I mean never fails — that they are soon disappointed when they discover we are not two of a kind because they aren't a twelve-year-old girl and they are not definitely a boy, they are an old man, and everybody knows twelve-year-old girls think anybody over twenty is old. Ewwwww!
Then you have the other factor: Males are immature.
Now, men, hold your horses. I am not meaning that you aren't productive members of society and hold a job, or you can't be a good dad or husband or friend. What I mean is, your minds run on one track at a time, and when you get near the women, all your maturity flies out the window and you become enthralled pubescent boys again who can't wait to touch the women.
And men try to do just that.
And there is nothing wrong with it.
And real women like it when men give it a good try.
And that natural, good inclination cannot be legislated away because it is God-given.
But for me, who will always be twelve, finding a mature yet not stuck in the mud kind of guy who doesn't mind it that Angela is excited and interested in all things and often blurts stuff out willy-nilly, and more things Angela that are dichotomous, well, it's like pulling teeth out of a chicken.
Reba McEntire said it best in her song: All the Women I Am. Here's the video:
See? Real men, good men, know this about real women, good women. And they celebrate it.
*As a side note, the Bills each have wives who seek to destroy the women their husbands assaulted. Though that's another topic for another day, here's a little reminder of what "I did not have sex with that woman" and "They are all liars and trailer trash" looks like.
You know, there was once a time I was like most folks who listened to National Public Radio. But I quit a few years back because I hate to vomit. NPR couldn't find its backside if it was attached to it.
Not to say that I haven't heard some interesting things on their program. For instance, that is where I heard the story about the Mojave Desert Phone Booth which prompted me to write a song about it. I'm sharing it here and now to let you know this great story would not have existed had I not listened to NPR.
But those inspiring stories became fewer and I got tired of waiting for more.
It became painful and a waste of my time slogging through the Politically Correct Democratic Socialist RINO Fascist Commie talking points to get to something that might be relevant to an independent-minded person such as myself.
On their website, NPR boasts of winning hundreds of awards, many from prestigious journalism blah, blah, blah, while they say of themselves:
"On-air and online, NPR presents fact-based, independent journalism that examines and airs diverse perspectives. NPR's journalists strive for mastery of the narrative form, telling stories in ways that transport the audience to the places where news is happening and introducing the people affected."
Doesn't that just sound lofty and worthy and caring? Of course it does. But how independent can NPR be when the stories are the same as everybody else in mainstream media whose narrow world view produces narrow story lines? Which story lines, by the way, always give institutionalized evil a pass.
...But the organization made a judgment last fall that taps into that credibility account. The decision was to take $1.8 million from the Open Society Foundations. It's funded by left-leaning billionaire financier-philanthropist George Soros, who made his fortune in hedge funds and currency speculation.
The money is for a worthy purpose...
Of course it is, sweeties.
See? They knew Soros was — let me chuckle a moment — left-leaning, but took the money anyway. So I went to NPR's website and searched for that worthy purpose. It is called Impact of Government, and also Impact on Government. Which, by the by, are two completely different titles.
Supposedly they were going to have two stringers in each state that would focus on state politics that often do not get covered in the media. Here's what I found they did for $1.8 million dollars.
And nothing since. Hey, Soros? I'll write for ROTW for that kind of money. Oh, wait. I already write for ROTW and I do it at my own expense as a Citizen Journalist.
Now NPR is reporting that bastion of caring around the world and self-appointed watchdog of fake news, or social media giant Facebook, says that $100,000 they made selling ads on their portal to a Troll farm in Florida made Hillary lose?
I recently wrote a song called Crying Puddles. We performed it at the Joe Gransden Jazz Jam held every Tuesday at Venkman's in Midtown Atlanta. Venkman's live streams the stage with an iPhone from the back of the room so the phone picks up noise from the kitchen and waitstaff picking up orders, but you can still hear the song pretty good here.
You know, I even wore a dress this evening. Yes, I got gussied up. Here's the vid:
Crying Puddles
Lyrics by Angela K. Durden
All Rights Reserved
(c) 2017 Angela K. Durden and Second Bight Publishing
And I think I can safely say, it's been 38 years since I've had to play it... 
;)
