For Time Out Sydney.
Not strictly the filthiest tunes of all time, but a headline’s a headline. Current Youtube videos accompany all the entries on the TO page, except Roy’s ‘My Girl’s Pussy’, which can be found here.
Sydney’s doyenne of musical smut, A.H. Cayley, shares a few filthy jams to put you in the mood. (Warning! Strong language)
Strokin’ – Clarence Carter, Dr C.C. (1986)
In which the-then 50-year-old soul man pontificates joyfully on his favourite act. You think it’s about masturbation but then it totally isn’t, in a complete expectations vs reality win. Carter strokes it to the east, he strokes it to the west, he strokes it to the woman that he loves the best, even when The Man’s shining a torch in his face in the backseat of his car, which is some admirable determination. There is no conversational lull that can not be solved by singing out the refrain “I’m strokin!” (though I expect it would help for your interlocutors to be familiar with the song first), and I for one can not wait to employ it as an excuse against some inevitable charges of public indecency. Also, full marks for the use of the word ‘sassified’.
Stroke it, Clarence Carter
But don’t stroke so fast.
If my stuff ain’t tight enough,
You can stick it up my–”
Lick It Before You Stick It – Denise Lasalle,
The Real Woman (2000)
Gentlemen, take note! Madame Lasalle, that Bad Bitch, that 24 Hour Woman, has some advice for you. The production makes it sound like a classic track, but this one only came out at the beginning of the century; clearly, Lasalle saw the need to teach the younger generations a little thing about lovin’. Not just an awesome tune, it contains the best clitoral reference to be found in any pop song: “Just find that little man in the boat.” Ladies, might I suggest investing in a tiny, jaunty little sailor cap? Just taking expressions of interest before I set up the Etsy store.
You’re making her feel good, but you can make her feel better,
If you treat your lady like a, stamp on a letter.
Lick it! Before you stick it.
Shave ‘Em Dry – Lucille Bogan (1935)
That’s pronounced ‘Beau-garn’, Skippy. No need to say much about this one; like most of Bogan’s work, it speaks for itself. Does it ever. So much of her work is on par with this one for total filth, but it’s her most famous. You’ll probably need to shower/get tested after listening. Interesting side note: in southern US slang, ‘cock’ used to refer to the lady bits. You’ve learnt something.
Now your nuts hang down like a damn bell slapper,
And your dick stands up like a steeple.
Your goddamn asshole stands open like a church door,
And the crabs walk in like people.
Somebody Else Was Suckin’ My Dick Last Night – Fred Wolff Combo (year unknown)
This seems to have been a one-off pseudonymic work; I’ve searched long and hard and have yet to find another Fred Wolff Combo release. I don’t even know what year it’s from, but it’s still available from Norton Records (clear blue vinyl 7”, no helpful liner notes). The part of Wolff is played by the legendary Cub Koda of Brownsville Station, who wrote ‘Smokin’ In The Boys Room’, later to be covered by Motley Crue. It’s a vile, sneering affair, the message relentlessly given with a smirk in Koda’s greasy barroom croak and wrapped up in a loose, loud, rock ‘n’ roll standard. Frankly, more songs should have deep-voiced backup singers whose only job is to sing “suckin’ my dick”. Your move, One Direction.
You can wibble you can wobble
You can shakin’ it all night long.
Yeah, but somebody else been suckin’ this ol’ long dong.
Fuck Off – Wayne County and the Electric Chairs, Blatantly Offensive (1978)
This one was a revelation for me as a teenager. The first truly filthy song I ever heard (included on a Mojo New York punk compilation), I would play it at full volume whenever my parents left the house. From before Wayne became Jayne, it’s a spray of acid and bile at a frigid scenester, culminating in the sheer poetry of, “In other words, if you ain’t got time to take a walk with me on my meat rack, you can just get the hell outta my bread line.” I still remember playing it to my best friend for the first time in the school library, huddled together between one set of earphones. “Meat rack!” We were floored. That’s a young Jools Holland on the keys, too. He’s highly regarded and everything.
You think that you’re, hot shit I heard.
You ain’t nothin’ but a, cold turd.
If you don’t wanna fuck me, baby,
Baby, fuck off.
Sex Planet – R Kelly, Double Up (2007)
Like much of Kelly’s work (and it was hard choosing just one track), this is genius for the sheer discomfort it causes and the questions it poses. Is he being serious? Did he really just sing that clunky, high school-level sex metaphor with such earnestness? Does he actually ever get laid as a result of this? Did he do any astronomical research? Does he realise that, climax or no, he would burn up and die before reaching Mercury, and that even if he and his conquest made it, the atmosphere is not sufficient to sustain human life? Do you want to kill this woman, Kelly? Have you even seen Cosmos? And have you told NASA about this Sex Planet? They probably wanna know about it, hey.
Girl, I promise this will be painless (painless),
We’ll take a trip to planet Uranus (‘ranus).
Play – David Banner, Certified (2005)
Gon’ play wit it, gon’ play wit it; work that clit – come, girl. Sound advice! Admittedly, you probably shouldn’t extend that advice to doing it on a public dancefloor, and yes, you really should worry about “them other hoes” (and the poor bar staff!), but if you must, you can always use the Clarence Carter defence (fig. 1). Brutally filthy, but perhaps all the more shocking for Banner’s aggressive dedication to the female orgasm, which seems at odds with so much of today’s hip hop. See, Odd Future? You can be shocking without the violent rape fantasies. Probably get laid more, too.
Finger-fuck your pussy like you want some, girl,
Work it like a nigga straight licking on your pearl.
I wanna see you come in the middle of the dance floor,
Nigga can’t fuck, what you think your finger made for?
My Ding-a-Ling – Chuck Berry, The London Chuck Berry Sessions (1972)
Strictly speaking, this track was released as a single before later appearing on the semi-live album, but yunno. Also it’s a cover, but Berry made it his own. Plus, the live version is so fantastic for Berry’s carefully rehearsed, sweet-but-dirty-wink-wink banter (the reason for this song’s inclusion in the list) and the crowd’s manic call-and-answer. You should hunt down the album if you can – it’s a much more raucous affair (and the closing audio of the stage manager having to beg the crowd to leave so Pink Floyd can play is just wonderful, because fuck Pink Floyd), though the version given here is worth it for the polite British voices and self-conscious smiles of the studio audience, and Berry’s mockery of an apparently shocked cameraman. You don’t really get “straight-up influential guitar legend” from ‘My Ding-a-Ling’, which makes the fact that it was Berry’s only number one a total bummer, but you do get a little bit turned on. I still remember wondering whether or not my friend’s dad had forgotten about this track when he lent his vinyl copy of the album to 15-year-old me. Memories.
Girls, we want you to put your part right ’round the boys part so we got all the parts together … that was fairly good, fairly good; but you know, it wasn’t but two girls out here, and one little girl back here, takin’ care o’ all them ding-a-lings. That’s entirely too much. We need more girls to participate, now. Come on, ladies … open your mouth now, here, come an’ get it.
Rotten Cocksuckers’ Ball – The Clovers (1954)
“Oh, the Clovers! Those cheeky men behind ‘Love Potion #9′ and ‘One Mint Julep’. What a lovely doo-wop group they are. But say, I haven’t heard this song before. It’s – oh my goodness!” A parody of Shelton Brooks’ 1917 number, ‘Darktown Strutters’ Ball’, ‘Rotten Cocksuckers’ Ball’ seems all the more filthy for the Clovers’ deadpan, a capella delivery and velvet-smooth harmonies. Though Atlantic refused to release it, this backroom recording still got pressed. Thank heavens for that. See also Zappa’s cover, ‘Cock-Suckers’ Ball’ from 1986’s Does Humor Belong in Music? It’s worth noting that the undoubtedly homosexual tone of the song is just a misunderstanding of our age (see above re: the etymology of ‘cock’), but oh how I would love it if Mardi Gras considered a doo-wop float next year.
Cocksuckin’ Sammy get your motherfuckin’ mammy,
We’re goin’ downtown to the Cocksuckers’ Ball.
Fuck, suck and fight,
‘Til beginning of the broad daylight.
My Girl’s Pussy – Harry Roy and His Bat Club Boys (1931)
Such a cute number, but there can be no mistaking the subject matter of this oft-covered tune. That, or Roy, who also wrote ‘Leicester Square Rag’, just really loved his lady’s cat. It’ll get easily stuck in your head, so do be careful singing in the office. Be sure to check out Robert Crumb and His Cheap Suit Serenaders’ cover, too (you may know it as the theme tune to Laid), made all the more filthy in their delivery. A true classic.
Often it goes out at night, returns at break of dawn.
No matter what the weather’s like, it’s always nice and warm.
It’s never dirty, always clean. In giving thrills, never mean.
But it’s the best I’ve ever seen, it’s my girl’s pussy.