HOT MOMMA

As you can tell, I’m feeling shite. (Damn you, Sarah and reminding me of my monthly womanly agony.) This might be my crap week so if you can’t take the shit, get off the fucking pot.

Something to make me feel better. Yes, it’s from Trace Adkins. You so much as flinch your eyebrow muscle or twitch the corners of your lips and I swear to God I will brand your pasty, white ass with a severely hot poker and then make you sit on salt. Iodized.

  You’re doin all you can
To get in them ‘ol jeans
You want that body back
You had at seventeen
Well baby don’t get down
Don’t you worry bout a thing
‘Cause the way you fill ‘em out
Hey, thats alright with me
I don’t want the girl you used to be
And if you aint noticed
The kids are fast asleep
And your one hot mama
You turn me on
Let’s turn it up
And turn this room into a sauna
One hot mama
Oh, whatta ya say babe
You wanna?
Well I know sometimes you think
That all you really are
Is the woman with the kids
And the groceries in the car
And you worry about your hips
And you worry about your age
Meanwhile I’m trying to catch
The breath you take away
Oh, and believe me you still do

Baby, all I see
When I look at you is
One hot momma
You turn me on
Let’s turn it up
And turn this room into a sauna
One hot momma
Oh, whattya say babe
You wanna?
I can’t imagine me
Lovin someone else
I’m a lucky man
I think Daddy’s got himself
One hot momma
You turn me on
Let’s turn it up
And turn this room into a sauna
One hot mommma
Oh, whatta ya say babe
Oh now, whatta ya say babe
You wanna?
Your one hot momma
Let’s turn this room into a sauna
Whatta ya say babe
Whatta ya say baby
Hot Mamma, yeah

Country Gangsta

I have the attention span of a gnat, but when it comes to more .. eclectic things, I tend to run obsessed. First I point and laugh, and then I try a little, and then comes the obsession part.

There was the Franck Ribery/Oliver Neuville phase

The Pierluigi Collina phase

The  Fabio phase

I wear a badge that says “On fire for Franck,” ” Horny for Ollie,” “Pantyless for Pier,” and “Buttery for Fabio.” SRSLY. Lulubelle has the same collection as well. I do not regret loving each and every single one of these men. They are .. unique and special in their own way.

But now may I present to you, the latest member of my daily playlist, that brings the piiiiimp back into the country gangsta genre, TRACE ADKINS.

themovieaddict: Yeah, incredible songs. Like “Swing.” Man, genius lyrics there, man. “Swing batta batta swing batta batta swing batta batta swiiiiiinnggg!” Wonder how long it took Trace to come up with that little stroke of brilliance. And don’t get me started on “Honky Tonk Badonkadong. (sp)”

LYRICS (so we can all join in on the festivities)

Turn it up some
Alright boys, this is her favorite song
You know that right
So, if we play it good and loud
She might get up and dance again
Ooh, she put her beer down
Here she comes
Here she comes
Left left left right left
Whoo

Husslers shootin’ eightball
Throwin’ darts at the wall
Feelin’ damn near 10 ft. tall
Here she comes, Lord help us all
Ol’ T.W.’s girlfriend done slapped him outta his chair
Poor ole boy, it ain’t his fault
It’s so hard not to stare
At that honky tonk badonkadonk
Keepin’ perfect rhythm
Make ya wanna swing along
Got it goin’ on
Like Donkey Kong
And whoo-wee
Shut my mouth, slap your grandma
There outta be a law
Get the Sheriff on the phone
Lord have mercy, how’s she even get them britches on
That honky tonk badonkadonk
(Aww son)

Now Honey, you can’t blame her
For what her mama gave her
You ain’t gotta hate her
For workin’ that money-maker
Band shuts down at two
But we’re hangin’ out till three
We hate to see her go
But love to watch her leave
With that honky tonk badonkadonk
Keepin’ perfect rhythm
Make ya wanna swing along
Got it goin’ on
Like Donkey Kong
And whoo-wee
Shut my mouth, slap your grandma
There outta be a law
Get the Sheriff on the phone
Lord have mercy, how’s she even get them britches on
With that honky tonk badonkadonk
(Ooh, that’s what I’m talkin’ bout right there, honey)

We don’t care bout the drinkin’
Barely listen to the band
Our hands, they start a shakin’
When she gets the urge to dance
Drivin’ everybody crazy
You think you fell in love
Boys, you better keep your distance
You can look but you can’t touch
That honkey tonk badonkadonk
Keepin’ perfect rhythm
Make ya wanna swing along
Got it goin’ on
Like Donkey Kong
And whoo-wee
Shut my mouth, slap your grandma
There outta be a law
Get the Sheriff on the phone
Lord have mercy, how’s she even get them britches on
That honky tonk badonkadonk

That honky tonk badonkadonk
Yeah, that honky tonk badonkadonk

(That’s it, right there boys, that’s why we do what we do
It ain’t for the money, it ain’t for the glory, it ain’t for the free whiskey
It’s for the badonkadonk)

*swoon*

Aren’t you just smitten by this gorgeous, poetic specimen? I have now downloaded six of his albums. I shall be listening to it while I fall into a sweet, sweet slumber.