Aretha Franklin – R.E.S.P.E.C.T. – R.I.P. – Queen of Soul

What you want
Baby, I got it
What you need
Do you know I got it
All I’m askin’
Is for a little respect when you get home (just a little bit)
Hey baby (just a little bit) when you get home
(Just a little bit) mister (just a little bit)
I ain’t gonna do you wrong while you’re gone
Ain’t gonna do you wrong cause I don’t wanna
All I’m askin’
Is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit)
Baby (just a little bit) when you get home (just a little bit)
Yeah (just a little bit)
I’m about to give you all of my money
And all I’m askin’ in return, honey
Is to give me my propers
When you get home (just a, just a, just a, just a)
Yeah baby (just a, just a, just a, just a)
When you get home (just a little bit)
Yeah (just a little bit)
Ooo, your kisses
Sweeter than honey
And guess what?
So is my money
All I want you to do for me
Is give it to me when you get home (re, re, re ,re)
Yeah baby (re, re, re ,re)
Whip it to me (respect, just a little bit)
When you get home, now (just a little bit)
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Find out what it means to me
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Take care, TCB
Oh (sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me)
A little respect (sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me)
Whoa, babe (just a little bit)
A little respect (just a little bit)
I get tired (just a little bit)
Keep on tryin’ (just a little bit)
You’re runnin’ out of fools (just a little bit)
And I ain’t lyin’ (just a little bit)
(Re, re, re, re) when you come home
(Re, re, re ,re) ‘spect
Or you might walk in (respect, just a little bit)
And find out I’m gone (just a little bit)
I got to have (just a little bit)
A little respect (just a little bit)
(Songwriters: Otis Redding)
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“Cigar Bar” by L. K. Thayer

I went from downward facing dog in Hollywood

to the

V Cut Smoke Shop & Lounge

watched the Minnesota Vikings win the game

in the smoky beat-up red leather couch room

with a bullfighter on the wall swinging his cape

dancing to Aretha Franklin’s “Rock Steady”

straight as an arrow, cigar in hand, smoke rings

swirling to the rhythm of poetic

spontaneous combustion on a rainy

Sunday afternoon in L.A.

L. K. Thayer

Photo by VC Ferry

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