“Boobsalot, boobsalot, boobsalot, I like boobsalot, boobsalot, boobaslot.......”
The Fugs, I haven’t thought about that band in almost 50 years.
If Grande is worried about safe spaces, being center stage and dressed for painting the town... and with Klintoon lusting and the preacher clutching her like a chicken leg at a Sunday picnic... (Whining-stine was unavailable for attendance)...
A tasteless evening for the iconic Queen of soul.
Perhaps Grande ought to consider at least a smidgen of situational awareness.
I can only reckon that Grande is yet another sheltered fool, without a clue...
I’m guessing Willie Jeff was there cuz he likes to blow his sax and add a bit o’ foghorn to the soul records he spins.
The weirdest (lefty) memorial “service” I’ve ever viewed, bar-none.