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Connie Francis – ‘Stupid Cupid’

Connie Francis – Stupid Cupid Lyrics | Genius Lyrics

About the Song

Connie Francis’s “Stupid Cupid” is a playful and upbeat pop song that has been a favorite for generations. Released in 1958, this catchy tune features Francis’s bubbly vocals and a simple yet infectious melody.

The song’s lyrics tell the story of a young woman who is frustrated with Cupid for shooting her with his love arrows. She playfully complains about the complications and heartache that come with falling in love. The song’s lighthearted and humorous tone makes it a fun and enjoyable listen.

Francis’s energetic performance is a highlight of the song. Her voice is full of youthful exuberance, perfectly capturing the song’s playful spirit. The backing instrumentation is simple but effective, providing a solid foundation for Francis’s vocals.

“Stupid Cupid” has been covered by numerous artists over the years, but Francis’s original version remains the definitive recording. The song’s enduring popularity is a testament to its catchy melody and Francis’s charismatic performance.

Whether you’re a fan of classic pop music or simply looking for a fun and upbeat song, “Stupid Cupid” is a must-listen. Its playful lyrics and infectious melody continue to delight audiences today, making it a timeless classic.

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Lyrics: Stupid Cupid

Stupid Cupid you’re a real mean guy
I’d like to clip your wings so you can’t fly
I’m in love and it’s a crying shame
And I know that you’re the one to blame
Hey hey, set me free
Stupid Cupid stop picking on me

I can’t do my homework and I can’t think straight
I meet him every morning ’bout half past eight
I’m acting like a lovesick fool
You’ve even got me carrying his books to school
Hey hey, set me free
Stupid Cupid stop picking on me

You mixed me up for good right from the very start
Hey now, go play Robin Hood with somebody else’s heart

You got me jumping like a crazy clown
And I don’t feature what you’re putting down
Since I kissed his loving lips of wine
The thing that bothers me is that I like it fine
Hey hey, set me free
Stupid Cupid stop picking on me

You got me jumping like a crazy clown
And I don’t feature what you’re putting down
Since I kissed his loving lips of wine
The thing that bothers me is that I like it fine
Hey hey, set me free
Stupid Cupid stop picking on me

Hey hey, set me free
Stupid Cupid stop picking on me

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SHE WAS A BRIDE AT FIFTEEN, A MOTHER AT SIXTEEN, AND THE FIRST WOMAN NASHVILLE EVER HAD TO CALL “ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR” — THEN SHE NAMED HER BABY AFTER THE BEST FRIEND SHE’D JUST BURIED, AND THAT BABY SPENT A LIFETIME MAKING SURE NEITHER VOICE WAS FORGOTTEN. Loretta Lynn came out of Butcher Hollow, Kentucky, with nothing but a coal miner’s last name and a voice that could pin a grown man to his chair. Married before she could drive. Four children by twenty-two. Then she wrote songs that scared Nashville half to death — about cheating husbands, birth control pills, and women who’d had enough. Sixteen number-ones. Presidential Medal of Freedom. The whole world calling her the Coal Miner’s Daughter. In 1963, her best friend Patsy Cline died in a plane crash. The next year, Loretta gave birth to twins. She named one of them Patsy. That little girl grew up backstage, between tour buses and honky-tonks. She formed The Lynns with her twin sister Peggy. Earned CMA nominations. Then she did something quieter and heavier — she stepped behind the glass and co-produced her mother’s final albums alongside Johnny Cash’s son. Loretta died October 4, 2022. That first birthday without her, Patsy woke up reaching for a phone call that wasn’t coming — her mama singing “Happy Birthday,” the way she always had. Does knowing Loretta named her daughter after a ghost she never stopped grieving make “I Fall to Pieces” feel like it belongs to both of them now?

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SHE WAS A BRIDE AT FIFTEEN, A MOTHER AT SIXTEEN, AND THE FIRST WOMAN NASHVILLE EVER HAD TO CALL “ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR” — THEN SHE NAMED HER BABY AFTER THE BEST FRIEND SHE’D JUST BURIED, AND THAT BABY SPENT A LIFETIME MAKING SURE NEITHER VOICE WAS FORGOTTEN. Loretta Lynn came out of Butcher Hollow, Kentucky, with nothing but a coal miner’s last name and a voice that could pin a grown man to his chair. Married before she could drive. Four children by twenty-two. Then she wrote songs that scared Nashville half to death — about cheating husbands, birth control pills, and women who’d had enough. Sixteen number-ones. Presidential Medal of Freedom. The whole world calling her the Coal Miner’s Daughter. In 1963, her best friend Patsy Cline died in a plane crash. The next year, Loretta gave birth to twins. She named one of them Patsy. That little girl grew up backstage, between tour buses and honky-tonks. She formed The Lynns with her twin sister Peggy. Earned CMA nominations. Then she did something quieter and heavier — she stepped behind the glass and co-produced her mother’s final albums alongside Johnny Cash’s son. Loretta died October 4, 2022. That first birthday without her, Patsy woke up reaching for a phone call that wasn’t coming — her mama singing “Happy Birthday,” the way she always had. Does knowing Loretta named her daughter after a ghost she never stopped grieving make “I Fall to Pieces” feel like it belongs to both of them now?

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