That awkward moment when you realise your favourite song is actually about crystal meth.
I got caught singing the wrong lyrics to a song. I was trying to look cool at the gym while running on the treadmill. Trying to look hip in front of Jason my trainer who has the looks of The Commando and the personality of, well, The Commando.
And I found myself attempting to sing along to some cool-ass-gangster-rap-hip-hop-yo-yo-wassup-dawg song as I shuffled along on the treadmill like Cliff Young. And somehow I ended up singing the words “Like a cheese stick, like a cheese stick” to a song that apparently is not dairy-focused. The song is called “Like a G6”. Allegedly. I think that sounds ridiculous. I mean, what the hell is a G6? My trainer however thought this was HYSTERICAL.Oh how we laughed at my mistake. Well, he laughed. I made a mental note to send him an email virus.
Thankfully after this humiliation, friends revealed to me some of their own lyrical car crashes. Cheap Wine and A Three Day Roast (Cheap Wine and A Three Day Growth by Cold Chisel); Save the Whales (Sail Away by Enya); Turn the Heater On (Turn The Beat Around by Gloria Estefan); Alex The Seal (Our Lips Are Sealed by The Go-Gos). And then there was my personal favourite: Our Father And Mark and Kevin (Our Father Who Art in Heaven, The Lord’s Prayer).
I just really love the idea that Jesus had these two other brothers called Mark and Kevin roaming around like the Biblical version of the Daddo brothers or something.
Three years later and I had another confronting experience with song lyrics but this time I wasn’t getting the lyrics wrong. This time I just didn’t realise what the hell I was singing.
So picture it, I’m in the car and I’m singing a peppy, cheery, up-beat song I’ve always loved. Third Eye Blind. Semi-Charmed Life.
Remember this? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCI4EGjIZx4
It came on the radio and I clapped my hands and said “I love this song!” because I’m five-years-old and lame.
And my husband looked at me suspiciously and said, “You know what this is about right?”
“It’s about someone thinking they have a semi-charmed life?” I said sounding, err, five and lame.
And he said, “It’s about a guy doing drugs. Bump is a drug expression for a hit.”
Hang on, wha?
And then I made the mistake of sitting in the car and googling the lyrics. I needed to take some Panadol and have a lie down after I’d read them:
The sky was gold, it was rose
I was taking sips of it through my nose (WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???)
And I wish I could get back there, someplace back there
Smiling in the pictures you would take
Doing crystal meth (OH SHIT, I HADN’T EVEN NOTICED THEY SAID THIS), will lift you up until you break
It won’t stop, I won’t come down
I keep stock with the tick-tock rhythm, I bump for the drop
And then I bumped up, I took the hit that I was given
Then I bumped again, then I bumped again
How do I get back there, to the place where I fell asleep inside you (I JUST VOMITED)
How do I get myself back to the place where you said…
I want something else, to get me through this
Semi-charmed kinda life, baby, baby
I want something else, I’m not listening when you say good-bye (GOOD BECAUSE I HOPE SHE’S SNEAKING AWAY TO RING NARCOTICS ANONYMOUS)
So now, this song is ruined for me. Ruined. I mean I can’t listen to this song now without thinking it’s being sung by some guy called Dave wearing a beanie, eating chips and doing crystal meth on 100 day old feral bed linen.
Naturally this led to a conversation with Brad about weird men in beanies but also on songs that I used to love until I found out they were weird.
Like the song “Every Breath You Take” by the Police. Which is romantic IF YOU LIKE HAVING A FREAKING STALKER.
And Summer of ‘69, which I found out last year, has nothing to do with the summer of 1969 and everything to do with Bryan Adams having a summer brimmimg with oral sex. Nice one, Bryan. Next week why don’t you write a song about slapping the salami over the Easter break. #Klarssy.
And then there are just the lyrics which make NO SENSE TO ME.
When Beyonce sings Bootylicious and she says, “I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly”
WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?
WHAT THE WHAT NOW?
This post first appeared on Mamamia.
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Over the past 25 years Rebecca Sparrow has earned a living as a travel writer, a television publicist, a marketing executive, a magazine editor, a TV scriptwriter, a radio producer, a newspaper columnist and as an author.