Fat Larry's Band- Don't Let It Go To Your Head (1983)

I silently praise myself every time I get a raise at work or get myself some RRSPs or do something else that makes me feel like a for-real adult, but I shouldn't let it go to my head; I'm the same girl that hoards boxes of Lucky Charms for Saturday morning so I can throw out all the cereal pieces and have a total marshmallow-and-cartoon party. 

Sharon Redd- Love How You Feel (1983)

I tend to be a person that absorbs the feelings of others, like how I feel sad when I walk past a funeral, or the time on Boxing Day in eighth grade when I bought Mary J Blige's second album and spent a few weeks in a deep vicarious depression, wherein I was vicariously terrified that vicarious Jodeci was going to break up because of my vicarious drug problem.

Cashmere- Keep Me Up (1984)

My ultimate goal for my future, growing up, was to get myself to a financial point where I had an outdoor pool and somewhere warm enough to enjoy it. Also, to be able to surround myself in furs and cashmere and silk and buttery leathers. Everywhere.
Those who can afford the true softness of someone other creature's trimmings are far classier and better than the rest of us, obviously, and I'm over here, 30 years old and still in cotton like I just crawled out of a dumpster or something. I don't have "fur money". The only fur I ever owned was a small vintage collar made of rabbit, or perhaps squirrel, and it gave me a rash, shed fur like crazy, and disintegrated in a single evening. The last strip of the collar shed off into the slushy street and was run over by a taxi. "That", I said to myself, "is why rich people always seem so happy".

Oran "Juice" Jones- The Rain (1986)

I really could care less if there is pulp in my orange juice or not, but who was the asshole that decided that juice needed to be chunkier in the first place?

Glenn Jones- I'm Somebody (1983)

After a particularly terrifying episode of "Degrassi Junior High", the one where Wheels' parents die, I asked my folks who my godparents were. They looked at me like I was totally crazy, told me I didn't have godparents, and said not to worry because "if we died, somebody would probably take care of you"... The "somebody" and "probably" parts kept me awake at night right up until my eighteenth birthday.

Con Funk Shun- Burnin' Love (1986)

After years of working at a free clinic for teens, I feel like a broken record saying this, but for Con Funk Shun's sake, I'll repeat myself one more time:
"Love" is not supposed to burn, or itch, or sting. If you've made a regrettable decision on spring break or something, stop standing around and whining about it to your friends (or in this case, writing songs about it), get yourself to the doctor, and take care of business. Please. Before you spread your "burnin' love" to other folks.

Freda Payne- I Get High (On Your Memory) (1976)

When you are in the market for a purveyor of illegal substances, it can be tough to know who to ask. Use this handy guide for reference, and thank me later.
First of all, find someone who lives in a basement suite. Secondly, ask if they have a keen interest in exotic animals, particularly reptiles or rats. Then, take a good look at their pants- are they four sizes too small or too large? Congratulations. You've just found your guy.
It is 100% okay to ask to "try before you buy", and if you hear this exact song playing softly in the back of your brain, you, my friend, have got yourself some good shit.
Pat yourself on the back. You are now a consumer in one of the largest, and sketchiest, markets in the world.

Geoffrey Williams- Cinderella (1988)

I bet the worst thing about being Cinderella happens when the clock strikes twelve; your Double Stuf Oreos turn back into regular Oreos, your Coke Zero turns back into a Diet Coke, and Prince Charming turns back into your uncle's touchy-feely friend, 'Roy'.
I bet the best thing about being Cinderella is when the beautiful white horses in front of the carriage shrink down into little singing mice that wear cute raggedy vests and are surprisingly good tailors. Those tiny fellas are all kinds of valuable.

Private Joy- Coolin' Out (1982)

I try to cool out and relax, I really do, but the threat of Justin Bieber busting into my house and exposing my acne problem to the world looms over my head at all times. Trust me, I've seen that commercial a billion times, and the threat is very real.

Invisible Man's Band- All Night Thing (1979)

I often wonder, as I walk past a group of middle-aged women bending and straining and sweating in an outdoor fitness class in the park, if they realize that others can see actually see them. It's as if the loud guy running the group gave them all Gatorade mixed with Sprite (otherwise known as "Gatorite") and told them it would make them invisible to the public eye, so it's "totally cool" to wear spandex and get yelled at in a school field for a nominal fee, just in case you might lose a few pounds along the way.
I hate to break it to you, ladies, but you can never, ever trust a screaming guy in camo pants.