Word: wanna
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...that the earlier album was hardly top-form Lennon. Contented and uncertain and rambunctious by turns-and sometimes at once-Lennon's songs were a retrenchment, not a revelation. So much was always expected of him. He even wrote a song about it, I Don't Wanna Face It, a hard bit of self-deflation ("You wanna save humanity/ But it's people that you just can't stand") that is one of Milk and Honey's sharpest cuts. This song, according to the call-and-response style established by Double Fantasy, is answered...
...record opens with a scrappy declaration of Lennonesque independence, I'm Stepping Out, but I Don't Wanna Face It fades down with a clipped cry that sounds like a housebroken werewolf. The second side offers the unwelcome spectacle of Lennon, abject, begging (Forgive Me) My Little Flower Princess, then following Ono's Let Me Count the Ways with Grow Old with Me. Yoke's album notes explain: "John and I always thought, among many other things, that we were maybe the reincarnation of Robert [Browning] and Liz [Elizabeth Barrett Browning]." Lennon wanted Grow Old with...
...would be a day requiring endless ingenuity, especially in dodging. Being tall, slim, and blonde, she would probably get the full treatment starting about 10 a.m. First the friendly calls from the men she passed: "Bonjour, madame." "Come have a drink with me, madame." "Got a boyfriend, madame?" "Wanna come over, madame?" It would be no more irritating than a construction worker's whistle, except for its frequency. More troublesome would be the men who fell in step with her, getting her attention by touching hre arm, and acting aggrieved when she shrugged them off: "Why won't you talk...
...That I wanna have a little pride in My world...
...fusion-effeminate yet macho-of the rock-'n'-roll screamer and the Liberace of aerobics ("Good golly, Miss Molly, you look like a hog!"). The next he is Velvet Jones, a pomaded pimp, with teeth like sheathed knives, huckstering his how-to books for young ladies, I Wanna Be a Ho and Exercises of Love. Now he is Tyrone Green, an illiterate convict lionized by radical chic for his vengeful poetry ("Cill My Lanlord") and moving with the mean swagger of a ghetto goon pulling off his toughest scam. A few commercials later, he is Tyrone...