The Devil Is A Woman
Words by: Frances Tompkins. | Music by: Frances and Tim Tompkins.
Lyrics:
The devil is a woman,
the devil ain’t no lady.
She’ll call you up and wiggle on the telephone.
She’ll tell you naughty stories when you’re all alone.
You long to bite her.
Oh it’s so hard to fight her.
Watch out!
The devil is a woman,
the devil ain’t no lady.
She’s your delight in the dark black night.
The angel of suppose, she’ll curl up your toes.
She’ll tease you with secrets whispered in your ear.
With kisses softly blown, she’ll hang up the phone.
Tap tap tap on the windowpane.
Tap tap tap, “Let me in,”
she whispers sweetly,
she whispers lovingly.
She stands there smiling in the red moonlight,
dressed only in the snair of her long dark hair.
“Come over closer,
I won’t take no sir.”
The rest is secret,
but heed my warning.
Some night when you are all alone
I’ll call you on the telephone because
the devil is a woman,
the devil ain’t no lady.
She looks like red,
the devil looks like red,
the bad devil’s bad,
she’ll burn you up in bed.
Watch out!
Inception:
Summer 1982. A hot day at the El Nido Hotel in Old Hollywood. Tim was sick. I spent the day at the welfare department trying to get food stamps amid tons of cigarette-smoking mostly-angry people. When they finally called me in, it had been more than six hours. After the third degree and the fourth degree and the fifth degree I almost felt like a criminal. I didn’t get the food stamps. More paper work, more proof of who I was. I finally got out of there and home to sick Timothy.
Home was a second story room facing the street near the corner of Wilcox and Santa Monica Blvd. The night before, someone had been stabbed right outside our window. That’s the setting for the birth of “The Devil Is A Woman,” expanded from a scrap of paper scribbled with the title and tune. Tim made up a guitar part and the song moved ahead. That was the day after the day after I accidentally set the trash can on fire in the bathroom. [Frances]
Performance Credits:
Frances: lead voice and piano.
Tim: chorus vocals, guitar, bass, harmonica, and maraca.
Joe Brigandi: drums and Martin guitar case.
Production Credits:
Recorded, mixed and mastered at the GallopAway Music studio in San Juan Bautista, CA.
Kudos to granddaughter Paris Lahman for suggesting maracas to cover up metronome ticks that bled into the guitar microphone in a few places, and for added sonic interest.