EDITOR’S NOTE: This week on NRO, we’re rolling out the first five and then all 50 songs from a list John J. Miller compiled that appears in the June 5 issue of National Review. (#5 appeared here on Monday, #4 here on Tuesday.) To get the whole list NOW, check out the latest issue of National Review . For itunes links to all 50 songs, hang on until Friday, when we’ll unveil the whole list.

#3: ‘Sympathy for the Devil,’ by the Rolling Stones (1968) ; buy CD on Amazon.com The charisma of evil–it comes down to that, really. “Wealth and taste.” Authority: “a general’s rank.” Turning history down dark alleys on a whim: “I stuck around St. Petersburg / when I saw it was time for a change.” Respect predicated on physical violence: “use all your well-learned politesse / or I’ll lay your soul to waste.” Evil is not merely inspired by the desire to gratify some common lust. Evil seduces also because it can be so damnably in charge: Imagine a being who turns heads to tails and sinners to saints; who chokes the life out of the powerful, sometimes with a word, sometimes with two bare hands around the neck. And then he walks away, free. He is in need of some restraint, but there is no restraint. Not in this life. The devil as drawn by Mick Jagger–he alone wrote the lyrics, inspired by the samizdat novel The Master and Margarita by anti-Soviet author Mikhail Bulgakov–stands over stinking bodies as bombs fall from the sky, swaying to a samba. This is a portrait of badness as a bad guy himself–the personified, horns-on-his-head, pitchfork-and-a-tail bad guy, smiling in a bloody rain and still looking dapper. Yet he is not the Sunday-school devil. This one takes first-person credit for every damned thing: the Hundred Years War, the Bolshevik Revolution, Hitler, and the Kennedy assassinations. But Jagger’s devil doesn’t waste his speech swearing out more warrants against the future. Instead, he dances, shakes maracas, and grooves to a manic bass. He is fearless. The devil who watched Pilate wash his hands at the trial of Christ is the same one with you now. He is real and he will kill you, too. Yet… don’t you want to know more? Come closer. http://www.nationalreview.com/redirect/amazon.p?j=1411683056 The lyrics: Please allow me to introduce myself I’m a man of wealth and taste I’ve been around for a long, long year Stole many a man’s soul and faith I was ‘round when Jesus Christ Had his moment of doubt and pain Made damn sure that Pilate Washed his hands and sealed his fate Pleased to meet you Hope you guess my name But what’s puzzling you Is the nature of my game I stuck around St. Petersburg When I saw it was a time for a change Killed the czar and his ministers Anastasia screamed in vain I rode a tank Held a general’s rank When the blitzkrieg raged And the bodies stank Pleased to meet you Hope you guess my name, oh yeah Ah, what’s puzzling you Is the nature of my game, oh yeah I watched with glee While your kings and queens Fought for ten decades For the gods they made I shouted out, “Who killed the Kennedys?” When after all It was you and me Let me please introduce myself I’m a man of wealth and taste And I laid traps for troubadours Who get killed before they reach Bombay Pleased to meet you Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah But what’s puzzling you Is the nature of my game, oh yeah, get down, baby Pleased to meet you Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah But what’s confusing you Is just the nature of my game Just as every cop is a criminal And all the sinners saints As heads is tails Just call me Lucifer ’Cause I’m in need of some restraint So if you meet me Have some courtesy Have some sympathy, and some taste Use all your well-learned politesse Or I’ll lay your soul to waste, um yeah Pleased to meet you Hope you guessed my name, um yeah But what’s puzzling you Is the nature of my game, um mean it, get down Woo, who Oh yeah, get on down Oh yeah Oh yeah! Tell me baby, what’s my name? Tell me honey, can ya guess my name? Tell me baby, what’s my name? I tell you one time, you’re to blame Oh, who woo, woo Woo, who Woo, woo Woo, who, who Woo, who, who Oh, yeah What’s my name? Tell me, baby, what’s my name? Tell me, sweetie, what’s my name? –Michael Long is a director of the White House Writers Group and the editor of “Too Tough for TV: Rejected jokes of the late-night comics.”