You know, I have to say that I'm a little disappointed to see that LaMarca, one of my Idols of song, actually forgot two lines. I have long been under the illusion that LaMarca could do no wrong. Worse yet, LaMarca's 1997 forgetfulness made it into the 1999 Digital Tradition, and hasn't been corrected. Sol 'Roundman' Weber was bothered by this shortcoming, and e-mailed the missing couplet to Sandy Paton, who e-mailed it to me. It's in bold italics below. But then we have LaMarca's unattached verse, and the song isn't attributed in the DT, and maybe we'd better check the rest to make sure everything is right.
If you can submit a completely correct text, please do - but please post the whole song, not just the corrections.
I suppose there are better musicals, but this may be my all-time favorite. On my first date ever in my life, we went to a live performance of the Man of La Mancha road show in Milwaukee - about 1968, I think. Her last name was something French and she was a counselor at the camp where I worked. She was very nice, and I was clumsy and nervous - that's all I remember.
-Joe-



ALDONZA'S SONG

I was spawned in a ditch
By a mother who left me there
Naked and cold and too hungry to cry
I never blamed her
I'm sure she left hoping
That I'd have the good sense to die.

Then, of course, there's my father
I'm told that young ladies
Can point to their fathers with maidenly pride
Mine was some regiment
Here for an hour
I can't even tell you which side.

So of course, I became, as befitted my delicate birth
The most casual bride, of the murdering scum of the earth.

Spoken: Don Quixote ""But still thou art my lady""

Aldonza: ""A LADY! How should I be a lady?""

For a lady has modest and maidenly airs
And a virtue I somehow suspect that I lack
It's hard to remember those maidenly airs
In a stable, laid flat on your back.

Don't you see what your tender insanities do to me
Rob me of anger and give me despair
(Memory lapse here for last two lines of verse)
Blows and abuse I can take and give back again;
Tenderness I cannot bear.


Won't you look at me, LOOK at me
God, won't you look at me
Look at the kitchen slut, reeking of sweat
Born on a dungheap, to die on a dungheap
A strumpet men use and forget.

So please torture me now, with your sweet Dulcineas no more
I'm no-one, I'm NOTHING, I'm only Aldonza, the whore!"

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