The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

Money Honey – Elvis Presley

Introduction

Elvis Presley, the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, left an indelible mark on the world of music, and one of his iconic tracks, “Money Honey,” remains a timeless classic. This article delves into the history and significance of Elvis Presley’s “Money Honey” while also exploring interesting facts about the artist himself.

 

Did You Know?

Elvis Presley’s “Money Honey” was not only a musical sensation but also a pioneering force in the evolution of rock ‘n’ roll. Here are some fascinating tidbits about the song and the legendary artist:

  1. A Chart-Topping Hit: “Money Honey” was released in 1956 as a part of Elvis Presley’s debut album, which included some of his earliest and most influential works. The song quickly climbed the charts, establishing Elvis as a breakout star in the music industry.
  2. An Elvis Original: While “Money Honey” might sound like a song that has been around forever, it was actually penned by Jesse Stone, who tailored it to suit Elvis’s unique style. Elvis’s electrifying performance of the song made it his own.
  3. Rock ‘n’ Roll Revolution: Elvis Presley’s rendition of “Money Honey” marked a defining moment in the history of rock ‘n’ roll. His dynamic stage presence and vibrant delivery set the stage for the genre’s widespread popularity, making him an icon of the rock movement.
  4. Unforgettable Live Performances: Elvis’s live performances of “Money Honey” were legendary. His gyrating hips, charismatic stage presence, and raw talent captivated audiences around the world, cementing his status as a cultural phenomenon.
  5. Impact on Future Generations: Elvis Presley’s influence on modern music is immeasurable. “Money Honey” played a pivotal role in shaping the trajectory of rock ‘n’ roll and inspiring countless artists who followed in his footsteps.

Video

Lyrics: Money Honey  

You know, the landlord rang my front door bell.
I let it ring for a long, long spell.
I went to the window,
I peeped through the blind,
And asked him to tell me what’s on his mind.
He said,

Money, honey.
Money, honey.
Money, honey, if you want to get along with me.

Well, I screamed and I hollered,
I was so hard-pressed.
I called the woman that I loved the best.
I finally got my baby about half past three,
She said I’d like to know what you want with me.
I said,

Money, honey.
Money, honey.
Money, honey,
If you want to get along with me.

Well, I said tell me baby, what’s wrong with you?
From this day on our romance is through
I said, tell me baby, face to face
How could another man take my place?
She said,

Money, honey.
Money, honey.
Money, honey,
If you want to get a long with me.

Well, I’ve learned my lesson and now I know
The sun may shine and the winds may blow.
The women may come and the women may go,
But before I say I love you so,
I want

Money, honey.
Money, honey.
Money, honey,
If you want to get along with me.

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Long before the house lights ever dimmed or the first screaming chord shattered the arena air, a massive, invisible engine was already churning across the asphalt arteries of America. Fleet trucks thundered through the dark, laden with heavy steel trusses, coils of thick cables, stage monitors, and the dazzling wardrobe trunks that carried the magic. In hotel lobbies across the heartland, managers nervously cleared entire floors, while backstage, technicians barked orders into radio headsets, testing soundboard channels and fine-tuning microphones to catch every subtle nuance of a famous drawl. For the thousands filing through the turnstiles, all of this frantic, backbreaking labor remained completely out of sight. They only knew the electric rumor that had been pulsing through their town for weeks: Elvis is coming. Out in the crowd were mothers who had carefully pinched pennies for months, teenagers in pressed outfits who had driven across state lines, and working-class fans who had built their entire year around this single, sacred evening. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder under the hazy rafters, breathless with anticipation. And behind the velvet curtain, sitting alone with the quiet weight of their impossible expectations, was one tired man lacing up his boots—knowing that in just a few moments, he would step into the blinding white light and make every mile, every dollar, and every silent prayer entirely worth it.

In the chilly autumn of 1959, far from the blinding lights of American stardom, two lives intersected in Bad Nauheim, Germany, setting off a quiet ripple that would echo through pop culture history. Elvis was a twenty-four-year-old international icon grounded by army duty and hollowed out by the agonizing loss of his beloved mother, Gladys. Priscilla Beaulieu was a fourteen-year-old girl, thrust into an adult orbit before she had even learned who she was. In that quiet, foreign space, Elvis found a gentle harbor—a touchstone of home and vulnerability—while Priscilla was drawn into a dazzling, gilded birdcage where every step was observed, shaped, and carefully constrained. Though slick magazine covers would later package their May 1967 Las Vegas wedding as the ultimate fairy-tale romance, the reality behind the closed doors of Graceland was a quiet study in weight and isolation. For six years of marriage, Priscilla navigated the suffocating expectations of being Elvis’s idealized companion, living inside his nocturnal schedule and the constant presence of his inner circle. Even after the divorce papers were signed in 1973, their connection never truly severed; it simply transformed into a profound, enduring tenderness forged by shared youth and a daughter they both adored—a bittersweet reminder that the true human story behind a legend is rarely as simple as the pictures left behind.

On a humid night in Honolulu, January 14, 1973, the boundary between a localized stage and the rest of the planet simply dissolved. Draped in his iconic White Eagle jumpsuit, Elvis Presley stepped under the glaring stage lights of the International Center, not just to sing for the thousands crammed into the arena, but to project his image through the cold expanse of space via satellite to an estimated billion souls across the globe. In living rooms from Tokyo to Manila, across time zones, borders, and oceans, families sat mesmerized in front of flickering television sets, united in real-time by a single, mesmerizing presence. It was a staggering feat of modern technology, yet what held the world spellbound was something far older and more primal than satellite signals: the singular, electrifying soul of a singer who could reach across thousands of miles of empty air and make every person watching feel as though he were performing just for them.

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