There is a label bandied about these days by the sloth class that sounds more like a disease than a venerating title known as 'Trad Wife', which supposedly stands for traditional woman as the sloth class wouldn't be the sloth class without it labeling everything and everyone.
When the general consensus in elite social circles is oxygen was totally wasted on the Baby Boomer generation; it shouldn't come as any surprise the theme of a song such as 'Under Pressure', which was composed, performed and released by the English rock band Queen and David Bowie in 1981 went completely under the radar of this hideously vile and repulsive dumb as all fuck generation.
I still have the vivid memories of that vapid slogan 'Yes we can' being moronically chanted by this dumb as all fuck generation in the American 2008 and 2012 election cycle who couldn't even discern the black hulk wearing a dress standing beside senator/president nigger boy was a dude.
But I did!
The most evocative attire any woman can wear is a pinafore apron naked in the kitchen as it has more enchantment power than a $50,000.00 haute couture evening gown, which is a style of gown that has only recently been seen at the Miss Universe Beauty Pageant despite me having worn that style for over a decade.
I mention it in reference to the songs lyrics because sitting on the fence doesn't get you the girl despite her only wearing a pinafore apron.
LYRICS:
Mm-noom-ba-deh
Doom-boom-ba-beh
Doo-boo-boom-ba-beh-beh
Pressure pushin' down on me
Pressin' down on you, no man ask for
Under pressure that brings a building down
Splits a family in two, puts people on streets
Mm-ba-ba-beh, mm-ba-ba-beh
Dee-day-da, ee-day-da
That's okay
That's the terror of knowing what this world is about
Watchin' some good friends screamin', "Let me out"
Pray tomorrow gets me higher
Pressure on people, people on streets
Da-da-da, mm-mm
Da-da-da-ba-bum
Okay
Chippin' around, kick my brains 'round the floor
These are the days it never rains but it pours
Ee-doh-ba-buh, ee-da-ba-ba-bop
Mm-bo-bop, beh-lup
People on streets, ee-da-dee-da-day
People on streets, ee-da-dee-da-dee-da-dee-da
It's the terror of knowing what this world is about
Watching some good friends screaming, "Let me out"
Pray tomorrow gets me higher, higher, high
Pressure on people, people on streets
Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on the fence but it don't work
Keep comin' up with love but it's so slashed and torn
Why, why, why?
Love
Insanity laughs under pressure we're breaking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance?
Why can't we give love that one more chance?
Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love
Give love, give love, give love, give love?
'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure
Under pressure
Pressure
