You Don't Own Me,' A Feminist Anthem With Civil Rights Roots, Is All About Empathy : NPR

About the Song

Lesley Gore’sYou Don’t Own Me” was far ahead of its time. Released in 1963, it was a bold and defiant statement against the societal expectations placed on women. Gore, with her youthful voice and powerful delivery, transformed a simple pop song into a feminist anthem.

The lyrics are a direct challenge to the patriarchal norms of the era. They assert independence, individuality, and the right to make one’s own choices. Gore’s refusal to conform to the role of a submissive woman was groundbreaking, and it resonated with countless listeners who felt similarly constrained.

Musically, the song is a catchy pop tune with a driving rhythm. The arrangement is simple yet effective, allowing Gore’s vocals to take center stage. This contrast between the strong lyrical content and the upbeat melody made the song even more powerful.

You Don’t Own Me” has had a lasting impact on popular culture. It has been covered by numerous artists, and its message continues to be relevant today. The song is a reminder of the progress that has been made in women’s rights, while also serving as a call to action for continued equality.

Lesley Gore: “You Don't Own Me” – (Travalanche)

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Lyrics: You Don’t Own Me

You don’t own me
I’m not just one of your many toys
You don’t own me
Don’t say I can’t go with other boysAnd don’t tell me what to do
Don’t tell me what to say
And please, when I go out with you
Don’t put me on display ’causeYou don’t own me
Don’t try to change me in any way
You don’t own me
Don’t tie me down ’cause I’d never stayI don’t tell you what to say
I don’t tell you what to do
So just let me be myself
That’s all I ask of youI’m young, and I love to be young
I’m free, and I love to be free
To live my life the way I want
To say and do whatever I pleaseAnd don’t tell me what to do
Oh, don’t tell me what to say
And please, when I go out with you
Don’t put me on displayI don’t tell you what to say
Oh, don’t tell you what to do
So just let me be myself
That’s all I ask of youI’m young, and I love to be young
I’m free and I love to be free
To live my life the way I want
To say and do whatever I please

You Missed

WHEN “NO SHOW JONES” SHOWED UP FOR THE FINAL BATTLE Knoxville, April 2013. A single spotlight cut through the darkness, illuminating a frail figure perched on a lonely stool. George Jones—the man they infamously called “No Show Jones” for the hundreds of concerts he’d missed in his wild past—was actually here tonight. But no one in that deafening crowd knew the terrifying price he was paying just to sit there. They screamed for the “Greatest Voice in Country History,” blind to the invisible war raging beneath his jacket. Every single breath was a violent negotiation with the Grim Reaper. His lungs, once capable of shaking the rafters with deep emotion, were collapsing, fueled now only by sheer, ironclad will. Doctors had warned him: “Stepping on that stage right now is suicide.” But George, his eyes dim yet burning with a strange fire, waved them away. He owed his people one last goodbye. When the haunting opening chords of “He Stopped Loving Her Today” began, the arena fell into a church-like silence. Suddenly, it wasn’t just a song anymore. George wasn’t singing about a fictional man who died of a broken heart… he was singing his own eulogy. Witnesses swear that on the final verse, his voice didn’t tremble. It soared—steel-hard and haunting—a final roar of the alpha wolf before the end. He smiled, a look of strange relief on his face, as if he were whispering directly into the ear of Death itself: “Wait. I’m done singing. Now… I’m ready to go.” Just days later, “The Possum” closed his eyes forever. But that night? That night, he didn’t run. He spent his very last drop of life force to prove one thing: When it mattered most, George Jones didn’t miss the show.