the bitch 4

So Rowena Baines, my source in modernity, tells me I can no longer say bitch.
That's why we've been celebrating Bitch Week all this week at the Heelers Diaries.
I needed time to say goodbye.
Now I'm driving along the motorway towards the dulcet town of Athy, de facto capital of the IRA's caliphate in South Kildare.
No more bitches.
Is that a supernatural truth?
If I don't say it, there won't be any.
I doubt it.
But let's have one more for the road.
No parodies.
The real thing.
The Bitch as recorded by the British music combo styled The Olympic Runners way back in nineteen seventy something. The Olympic Runners were Brits but they and their producers had the New York sound to a tee. They were more New York than the New Yorkers themselves.
I crank up the stereo and sing lustily as I drive:

"There are good girls
And there's bad
The bad are all I've ever had
I can't tell you which is which
But trust me to choose the bitch
Aha
God help me I got the bitch
She will ruin
Me I know
But I love her her and I can't let her go
She's like a wicked wicked witch
And trust me to pick
The bitch
God help me I got the bitch
There are good girls
And there's naughty
The naughty always are a little haughty
I can't tell you which is which
But trust me to get the bitch
God help me I got the bitch"

Well bold readers I don;t know how I'm going to get by without that particular gem of the language.
Thankfully we still have the cee word.