This is either a verbal affectation on Elliot’s part or he has given his “parts” the very female nickname of “May.” I am inclined toward the former.īut I do have a few questions about this anthem’s lyrics-if I may dare to question any choice made by arguably the best band with a one-armed drummer of all time. Who hasn’t got excited when “Pour” suddenly blasts from their car radio and, singing along, found themselves, perhaps for the first time, pronouncing the word me as “may”, as in “Pour some sugar on may”.

'Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on Livin' like a lover with a radar phone Lookin' like a tramp like a video vamp Demolition woman, can I be your man? Razzle 'n' dazzle 'n' flash a little light Television lover, baby, go all nightSometime, anytime, sugar me sweet Little miss innocent, sugar me, yeah, yeah'īut once they realize sugar is where it’s really at, the song coalesces, or caramelizes, into one amazing tune. Until the last two lines, it’s a bit of a metaphorical free-for-all: When writing “Pour Some Sugar on Me”, it took a bit for the boys of DL to find their way during the song’s first stanza. Yes, in the 1987 tune, the Sheffeild-born vocalist is willing to be the embodiment of kinky rockstar slut: “Pour some sugar on me/Ooh, in the name of love/Pour some sugar on me/C’mon fire me up.” (Incidentally, this is the exact step for creating the savory crust atop creme brule-“sprinkle some additional sugar on top, and either broil or use a kitchen torch to caramelize the sugar.”) But Elliot is also not afraid to embody the courteous Englishman when he presents this thoughtful poser towards the end of the song: “Do you take sugar, one lump or two?” This is obviously a gentleman who enjoys his teatime, and who cares about his partner’s preferences. In pursuit of this metaphor, Elliot touches on that luscious cane sugar molecule, good old C12H22O11 as we chemically-minded like to call it. Either the narrator of the song, let’s call him Joe Elliot (frontman of the three-decade metal sensations), has one hell of a sugar fetish or sugar is an extended metaphor for wild, guiltless, unabashed sexual revelry.

I would like to take a while to ponder the lyrics of one of the most lively and memorable songs in the pantheon of hair-band sexploitation romps: Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me”.