200 Motels (The Movie)

The Mothers Of Invention, as themselves:
FZ
Mark Volman (also as the voice of the Good Conscience)
Howard Kaylan (also as the voice of Jeff, the cartoon)
Ian Underwood
Aynsley Dunbar
George Duke

Theodore Bikel as Dave and mainly as Rance Muhammitz

introducing:
Ringo Starr as Larry The Dwarf
Keith Moon as The Hot Nun
Janet Ferguson as herself
Lucy Offerall as herself
Jimmy Carl Black as himself and also as Lonesome Cowboy Burt
Martin Lickert as Jeff
Dick Barber as The Industrial Vacuum Cleaner
Don Preston as himself and also as The Monster
Pamela Miller as Rock & Roll Interviewer
Ruth Underwood as herself
Judy Gridley
Motorhead Sherwood (uncredited) as himself and also as Larry Fanoga and the fake Lucy
Jim Pons as voice of the Bad Conscience

The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Elgar Howarth
The Top Score Singers conducted by David Van Asch
Phyllis Bryn-Julson soprano
Classical Guitar Ensemble supervised by John Williams

music composed and arranged by Frank Zappa
story and screenplay by Frank Zappa
shooting script by Tony Palmer
characterizations directed by Frank Zappa
visuals directed by Tony Palmer

0:00:00 Semi-Fraudulent/Direct-From-Hollywood Overture

A MURAKAMI / WOLF / BIZARRE PRODUCTION
color by Technicolor

THE
MOTHERS
OF INVENTION

THEODORE BIKEL

music performed by
the Mothers of invention
MARK VOLMAN
HOWARD KAYLAN
IAN UNDERWOOD
AYNSLEY DUNBAR
GEORGE DUKE

introducing
KEITH MOON
JANET FERGUSON
LUCY OFFERALL
JIMMY CARL BLACK
MARTIN LICKERT
DICK BARBER
DON PRESTON
PAMELA MILLER
RUTH UNDERWOOD
JUDY GRIDLEY

RINGO STARR

FRANK ZAPPA'S
200 MOTELS

music composed and
arranged by
FRANK ZAPPA

music performed by
THE ROYAL PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA

choreographed by
GILLIAN LYNNE

story and screenplay by
FRANK ZAPPA
shooting script by
TONY PALMER

associate producers
RAOUL RAGEL
BRIAN HARRIS

produced by
JERRY GOOD
HERB COHEN

characterizations
directed by
FRANK ZAPPA

visuals directed by
TONY PALMER

Theodore Bikel:
Ladies 'n gentlemen

Chorus:
Two Hundred Motels

Theodore Bikel:
Two Hundred Motels
Life on the road!

Theodore Bikel:
Ladies 'n gentlemen!
And here he is!

Chorus:
Who?

Theodore Bikel:
Larry the Dwarf!

Chorus:
Yay!

Theodore Bikel:
Larry likes to dress up funny. Tonight he's dressed up like Frank Zappa. Let's ask him what's the deal.

Theodore Bikel:
Hi, Larry, it's good to have you back on our panel.

Larry The Dwarf (Ringo Starr):
Hi, Dave, it's really great to be back on your panel.

Theodore Bikel:
I'm sure the people at home would be interested to know why such a large dwarf as you is all dressed up like Frank Zappa. Tell us, Larry, eh . . . what's the deal?

Larry The Dwarf:
He made me do it, Dave. He's such a creep. He's making me hold this aladdin.

Theodore Bikel:
And why is he making you do that, Larry?

Larry The Dwarf:
He wants me to fuck the girl with the harp.

Theodore Bikel:
He wants you to fuck the girl . . . with the harp?

Larry The Dwarf:
No, no, with the magic lamp. He wants me to stuff it up her and rub it. Hm. Hm-hm-hm. Ho-ho-ho, ha-ha. A-HA-HA-HA-HO-HO.

Theodore Bikel:
Let's ask our studio audience. If you'd just been lowered down here on TV by a wire connected to a brown leather harness, forced by a crazy person to insert a mysterious, imported lamp into the reproductive-rep-rep-rep into-into the rep-rep-reproductive orifice of a lady harpist and you were a dwarf . . . would you do it?

Larry The Dwarf:
YES!!!

Chorus:
Yay!

Theodore Bikel:
Let's spin the big wheel, Larry! Go ahead, give it a whirl!

Voice Over:
What our studio audience doesn't know is that the reason Larry the Dwarf is doing all this stuff is because it's all part of the score to 200 Motels. Every word, every action, the lamp, the reproductive orifice, it's all in the score, so he has to do it. This whole event is a fantasy that occurred touring on the road. Touring can make you crazy, ladies and gentlemen. That is precisely what 200 Motels is all about.

0:04:08 Mystery Roach

Say!

Ow! Look out!
Ow! Look out!
Ow! Look out!

How long?
How long?
Till my mystery roach be arrivin' soon
Ah ooo, ah ooo, ah ooo, ah ooo

That mystery roach be approachin'
That mystery roach be approachin' me
La la la la la la la, oof!

How long?
How long?
Till that mystery roach been gone
Ya-ooo-ooo-oo-ooo
Ya-ooo-ooo-oo-ooo

That mystery roach be approachin'
That mystery roach be approachin' me
La la la la la la la, oof!
That mystery roach be approachin'
That mystery roach be approachin' me
La la la la la la la, oof!

Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!

Mark:
Room service?

Howard:
Oh . . . mystery roach?
What are we singing about?
We must be flipping out.

Rance Muhammitz (Theodore Bikel):
Special delivery for Mr. Volman! Mr. Volman? Are you Volman?

Mark:
(Sniff sniff) Do you smell somethin' weird? (Sniff sniff) It's a double cheeseburger from a famous American burger chain, with a symbol in the parking lot that's yellow plastic and goes like this:

RANCE MUHAMMITZ . . .
RANCE MUHAMMITZ . . .
RANCE . . .
RANCE MUHAMMITZ . . .
RANCE . . .
RANCE . . .

MUHAMMITZ . . .
MUHAMMITZ . . .
MUHAMMITZ . . .

Mark:
. . . In a steaming briefcase!

Rance Muhammitz:
You're Volman!

Howard:
Yeh— No. No. He's Volman. Who are you?

Rance Muhammitz:
You must call me "Rance Muhammitz."

JCB:
"Rance Muhammitz"? Stupidest name I ever heard of.

Rance Muhammitz:
Yah, but you must remember that within the conceptual framework of this filmic event, nothing really matters! It is entirely possible for several subjective realities to coexist. It is possible that all things are a deception of the senses.

Don:
Right on, Rance! The functioning of our senses has been spiritually impaired and chemically corrupted by the fake, artifical food coloring.

Rance Muhammitz:
By the way. Mr. Volman, I have . . . your cheeseburger.

Don:
We must evolve.

Motorhead:
Yeah . . .

Don:
We must progress.

Motorhead:
Progress . . .

Don:
There must be growth!

Motorhead:
Yeah . . . macrobiotic foods and tie-dye shirts!

Jeff (Martin Lickert):
Hey, ya ain't gonna eat that cheeseburger, Mark? . . . (BURP)

Mark:
Fucking guy will eat anything.

Rance Muhammitz:
This is registered delivery, you will have to sign for it.

Jeff:
Sure, man, I'll sign. Where's the pencil?

Rance Muhammitz:
I don't wish to alarm you, my son, but the signature will have to be . . . in blood.

JCB:
Listen, man, I just wanna know two things. Is there any beer in this fake nightclub, and when do we get paid?

Rance Muhammitz:
Just— Just a minute, just a minute, in a moment or two you'll be able to get your hands on all the imaginary beer that you want. For the moment, I would like to explain some of the things that you'll all be doing in this movie.

Don:
I've been wondering about that.

Rance Muhammitz:
For Sherwood, we have a vacuum cleaner scheduled . . .

Motorhead:
A vacuum cleaner?

Rance Muhammitz:
. . . And a potential epileptic seizure during a production number later on.

Motorhead:
A vacuum cleaner!

Rance Muhammitz:
I thought the two of you would like to get acquainted. It says here that you are supposed to be in love.

Interviewer (Pamela):
This abnormal relationship will be great for the big story I'm going to write!

JCB:
Listen, man, I just wanna know one thing: when do we get paid?

Rance Muhammitz:
Now look, look, look, look, look, don't you even care what you do?

JCB:
So long as I get some beer and I get paid, you can make me do anything. I'm professional!

Mark:
You should be careful talkin' about that stuff.

Jeff:
Why, does he listen?

Ian:
He always listens. He always watches and listens to all the guys in the band. I'VE BEEN IN THE BAND FOR YEARS, AND I KNOW. HE ALWAYS LISTENS.

Jeff:
That's how he gets all his material! It isn't s'posed to be natural, friendly, good-natured, humorous, ha-ha-ha-ha!

All Mothers:
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
YEAH, WELL FINE!

Jeff:
. . . And then he rips it off, and he sneaks off into a secret room someplace, and boils it in ammonia, and he gets it perverted, and THEN he brings it back to us at rehearsal and makes us play it!

George:
Hey, man, what's that over there?

Howard:
It's HIM. You can see him, he's watching.

Mark:
D'ya think he heard us?

Ian:
I've been in the band for years. You can bet that he heard everything.

Jeff:
Yeah, let's go over and pretend to be nice to him.

Howard:
Yeah, let's go over and pretent we don't know he's watching.

Mark:
Yeah, and rippin' off all our good material.

Howard:
Hi, man!

Ian:
Hi, Frank!

Mark:
Hi, man!

Aynsley:
Hi, Frank!

Jeff:
Hi, man!

George:
Hey, Frank!

Mark:
Hey, that's a GREAT new song you wrote, you know, the one about the penis and everything? I was laughin' a lot the whole time I was learnin' it!

Howard:
Yeah, we were all laughin', Frank!

All Mothers:
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
YEAH, WELL FINE!

Howard:
Yeah, it took a little while to get into it, man, but once we got the drift, phew!

Jeff:
Yeah, there's lots of great parts you've got in there for the chorus, you know when they go:

All Mothers:
RAN-TAN-RAN-TOON-RAN-TAN-TAN . . .

Jeff:
And I steal the room and everything, you know. I don't even mind you rippin' it off from me, just as long as I get paid.

Mark:
Oh, and I don't even mind the part where he says, "what can I say about this fabulous elixir," so long as me and Howard and Jeff Simmons—who left the group just before the movie started—get credit for special material! Ha-ha-ha!

Rance Muhammitz:
I'm deeply offended by your lack of artistic sense.

JCB:
Look here, Muhammitz, or whatever the fuck they call ya, I don't even give a shit, man, I got five fuckin' kids at home and . . . can you lend me a coupla bucks until the end of the week? Who are you, anyway?

Rance Muhammitz:
Oh, she writes for the imaginary rock and roll newspaper in San Francisco.

JCB:
San Francisco?

0:11:56 What's The Name Of Your Group?

All Mothers:
Man!

Larry The Dwarf:
Oh! Eh, he's making me leave here now. I'll see you later when we play.

Howard:
What?

Larry The Dwarf:
I don't expect you to understand that, because uh, we haven't formed the group yet.

Jeff:
Ah, Mark will play the bass . . .

Mark:
Ba-doom-doom-doom-doom . . .

Jeff:
Howie will sing and play sax . . .

Howard:
Dwee-dat-dwee-dat-dweet-dat-dwee-dat . . .

Jeff:
I'll play the guitar . . . woop-doo-doo-doo . . . and the dwarf here will play drums!

Howard:
Waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit! This guy isn't even a dwarf!

Jeff:
That's one of the reasons the group will be so commercial!

Mark:
Ah. What about the other guys?

Jeff:
Ah, they're already forming groups all over the place! Why wait till the end of the movie, we could have a hit single right now!

Mark:
He's right, he's right! We don't need Aynsley . . .

Howard:
No . . .

Mark:
We don't need Ian . . .

Howard:
No . . .

Mark:
We don't need George!

Howard:
No!

Mark:
We don't need anybody! Argh!

Howard:
No!

Jeff:
He needs us, remember. We don't need him! All those other guys are too old for rock. They're out of it! We could have a tight little heavy little band with this dwarf here. You know, that he, he used to play drums for Leon Russell . . .

Mark & Howard:
Ohh . . .

Mark:
Listen, you're right. Zappa's thirty.

Jeff:
Yeah, man.

Howard:
Ohh . . . whew . . .

Mark:
Thirty years old . . .

Howard:
Oh, he's out of it man! He's too old, he should retire.

Jeff:
Yeah, really. You can't trust old people. You know, we should take up a collection and buy him a watch.

Interviewer (Soprano):

I don't know too much about your stuff,
I been a little busy
This won't take long,
Just a few questions

This won't take long,
Just a few questions

This won't take long,
Just a few questions,
Just a few questions

This won't take long
This won't take long
This won't take long
This won't take long

Motorhead:
I hear birds!

Interviewer (Pamela):
What's he saying?

Rance Muhammitz:
You took the mystery burger! You are in full posession of . . . the burger! Do you know who I am? Hm? Do you know who I really am?

Mark:
Really man! WHO . . . DO YOU THINK . . . YOU ARE?

Jeff:
Yeah, do you want me to tell you WHO . . . I really think you are?

Howard:
Yeah, somebody tell me WHO is this guy?

0:16:44 Centerville

Centerville
A real nice place to raise your kids up
Centerville
It's really neat!

Churches!
Churches!
And liquor stores!

Bowling alleys!
Just like Glendale!

Look!
Over there . . .
It's a rancid boutique!

Lucy:
Janet, did you see those guys with the hair?

Janet:
It's those guys from the fake stage across the street from our house.

Lucy:
Eww, I get so excited when someone from a group gets near me. I just . . . eww, I just . . .

Janet:
Don't you have any taste? That one guy's got gray hair, and the other one's too fat.

Lucy:
Oh, they look so lonely.

Janet:
Lonely? Good evening, honey, they look desperate. Desperate pop stars are so depressing when they've been on the road for such a long time, and they finally get some action.

Lucy:
They drool on you.

Janet:
Really. All that stuff that comes out of their mouth when they're on top of you. It's so moche. Ew.

Lucy:
Ew, on the pillows.

Janet:
But I like the drummer with the rivets on his clothes, he's not bad.

Lucy:
Yeah, I've seen him too. He just screams "Englishness," with that little haircut and the rings . . .

Janet:
And the binoculars.

Lucy:
Binoculars?

Janet:
Didn't you notice his binoculars?

Lucy:
No, he's got binoculars?

Janet:
He watches us through them, he's a pervert!

Lucy:
Oh, I get so hot just thinking about perversions . . . Maybe when we go down to the fake nightclub tonight we can meet him, and find out if he really is perverted.

Janet:
Just take my word for it; he is perverted.

Lucy:
Mm. And English, too.

Janet:
They're all that way.

0:20:15 The Sealed Tuna Bolero

This town
This town
Is a sealed tuna samwich
Sealed tuna samwich
With the wrapper glued
(With the wrapper glued)
It's by baloney on the rack
(Rant-tant-tant
Tant-tant-tant
Tant-tant-tant)
It goes for forty cents a whack
It's just a rancid little snack
In a plastic pack
From a matron in La Habra with a blown-out crack
Who dies to suck the fringe off of Jimmy Carl Black!

0:22:00 Lonesome Cowboy Burt

includes Naval Aviation In Art?

My name is Burtram
I am a redneck
All my friends,
They call me 'Burt'
(Hi, Burt!)
All my family,
From down in Texas
Make their livin'
Diggin' dirt

Come out here to Californy,
Just to find me
Some pretty girls
Ones I seen
Gets me so horny;
Ruby lips,
'N teeth like pearls!

Wanna love 'em all!
Wanna love 'em dearly!
Wanna pretty girl—
I'll even pay!
I'll buy 'em furs!
I'll buy 'em jewelry!
I know they like me;
Here's what I say:

I'm lonesome Cowboy Burt!
(Speakin' atcha!)
Come smell my fringe-y shirt!
(Reekin' atcha!)
My cowboy pants,
My cowboy dance,
My bold advance,
On this here waitress . . .
Yodel-oh-oo-pee-hey
Yodel-oh-oo-pee!

(He's lonesome Cowboy Burt
Don'tcha get his feelings hurt)
Come on in this place,
'N I'll buy you a taste,
You can sit on my face—
Where's my waitress?

Burtram, Burtram redneck
Burtram, Burtram redneck

I'm an awful nice guy!
Sweat all day in the sun!
Roofer by trade,
Quite a bundle I've made,
I'm unionized roofin' old
Son-of-a-gun!
(He's a unionized roofin' old
Son-of-a-gun!)

When I get off, I get plastered
Drink till I fall onna floor,
Find me some Communist bastard,
'N stomp on his face till he don't
Move no more!
(He stomps on his face till he don't
Move no more!)

I fuss, an' I cuss an' I keep on drinkin',
Till my eyes puff up an' turn red!
I drool on m'shirt,
I see if he's hurt,
Kick him again in the head, yes!
Kick him again in the head, boys!
Kick him again in the head, now!
KICK HIM AGAIN IN THE HEAD!

Lonesome Cowboy Burt!
(Speakin' atcha!)
Come smell my fringe-y shirt!
(Reekin' atcha!)
My cowboy pants,
My cowboy dance,
My bold advance,
On this here waitress . . .
Yodel-oh-oo-pee-yeh
Yodel-oh-oo-pee!

(HE'S LONESOME COWBOY BURT,
A-don'tcha get his feelin's hurt)
Yeah . . . but come on in this place,
An' I'll buy you a taste,
'N you can sit on my face—
Where's my waitress?
OPAL, YOU HOT LITTLE BITCH!

Rance Muhammitz:
Yes, Jimmy Carl Black, Indian of the Group, what can I do for you?

JCB:
Mo-honnitz! What are you doin' here?

Rance Muhammitz:
You just called me, didn't you?

JCB:
All I said was "Opal, you hot little bitch".

Rance Muhammitz:
I am known by many names.

JCB:
Mm-hmm. You got many friends who call you "Opal the hot little bitch"?

Rance Muhammitz:
Please-please-please-please Mr. Black, let us cut the small talk, and get on with your briefing.

JCB:
Fine, you can brief me all you want as long as you can tell me two things . . .

Rance Muhammitz:
I know, when do we get paid . . .

JCB:
No, I wanna know where's that waitress . . .

Rance Muhammitz:
Yes, waitress..

JCB:
And if she comes in this place, will she sit on my face, and loan me a couple bucks until the end of the week.

Rance Muhammitz:
. . . Couple of bucks . . . . end of the week . . . week . . . week ending, the week ending, what-what that, what's the date?

JCB:
Uhhh, Tuesday was the 5th, uh Monday was the 3rd, uh make that out for Sunday—

Rance Muhammitz:
Eh-eh-eh, don't say Sunday!

JCB:
What's wrong with Sunday?

Rance Muhammitz:
Eh!

JCB:
The Lord's day! Br-r-r! A day of rest! Br-r-r! Just make that sucker out for the 23rd of March, wouldya?

Rance Muhammitz:
Very well, Mr. Black. Oh, by the way. I have here the special beer I promised you earlier.

JCB:
Oh man, it's about time, I've been waiting.

Rance Muhammitz:
Would you care to sign for it?

JCB:
This is a pencil?

Rance Muhammitz:
No, Mr. Black, it is a pin.

JCB:
A PIN?

Rance Muhammitz:
Would you jab yourself in the finger with it?

JCB:
Listen, Mo-hannitz, I may be professional, but I'm not THAT professional. I just want my beer.

Rance Muhammitz:
Sign first! In blood.

JCB:
Fuck you! Who do you think you are, the Devil or something?

Rance Muhammitz:
I am known by many names.

JCB:
You probably got some more weird names for yourself, but I'll tell you one thing you ain't nev— definitely ain't never gonna be called and that's the Devil, because you ain't the Devil.

Rance Muhammitz:
Oh, I'm not?

JCB:
You bet your sweet ass you're not. The fuckin' Devil's got an English accent. I seen him three weeks ago on TV. So you know, you can just take this big needle here and hang it in your ass as far as I'm concerned! (cough) Fuckin' guy musta been a communist!

0:28:35 Magic Fingers

Larry The Dwarf:

Hello there. When you go on tour with a musical group, it's possible that any town can seem like this. Whether it's large or small, or busy, or if there's nothing happening in it. The reason for this is quite simple.

A musician, if you consider the normal pattern of modern civilized life, is on the outside of it all. He doesn't build things, he doesn't work regular hours like a decent God-fearing citizen, and the life he leads, in many ways, seems useless and irrelevant to those of us who'd prefer a quiet evening in front of the television and a bottle of beer.

Amazing as it might seem to some of us, musicians have basic physical needs, just like real people. Many of them study for years, learning to play the violin for instance, only to be rewarded with a humdrum job in the fourth row of a symphonic string section.

That's why the government have constructed, at great expense, this experimental reorientation facility.

To find a way, perhaps, to retrain these useless old musicians with their brown fiddles and little horns. Give them a trade! A reason to exist in the modern world! A chance of a happier, more productive life. Some will enter the military, some will learn shorthand, and some will disappear in the middle of the night on a special train they're sending in.

It's the only way, really, to bring about the final solution to the orchestra question.

I'm sure that many of us realize that a pop group can earn a vast amount of money compared to these other kinds of musicians. That's why the special government agencies for mass response programming and psychological stultification prefer to treat them in a more subtle manner.

They know, just as many of you vigilant and thoroughly upstanding citizens have discovered for yourselves, the power of pop music to corrupt and putrify the minds of world youth are virtually limitless.

Ooh, the way you love me, lady,
I get so hard now I could die
Ooh, the way you love me, sugar,
I get so hard now I could die

Open up your pocketbook,
Get another quarter out,
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook,
Get another quarter out,
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size

Ooh, the way you squeeze me, baby,
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes
Ooh, the way you squeeze me, girl,
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes

Open up your pocketbook,
Get another quarter out,
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook,
Get another quarter out,
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size

Mark:
Do you really wanna please me?

Howard:
Well, you know I do, babe

Mark:
Well, tell me why you do it
I really wanna know

Howard:
Oh, no, no, it wouldn't be right
For me to tell you tonight

Mark:
You better tell me right away
Or I'll pack up and go!

Howard:
Don't get mad
It ain't no big thing

Mark:
You better tell me right away,
Don't you treat me cold

Howard:
HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT!
Well, there are a lot of reasons why I'd . . . I'd drag a girl such as yourself back to this . . . plastic hotel room and . . . rip you off for spare change to run a . . . to run a vibrating machine attached to this queen-size, bulk-purchase, kapok-infested, do-not-remove-tag-under-penalty-of-law type bed and . . . and make you take off all your little clothes . . . until you were nearly STARK RAVING NUDE! (Save for your chrome-with-heavy-duty-leather-thong Peace Medallion, heh . . . ) And make you assume a series of marginally erotic poses involving . . . a plastic chair and . . . an old guitar strap while I . . . did a wee-wee in your hair and . . . beat you with a pair of tennis shoes . . . I got from Jeff Beck.

Larry The Dwarf:
(mumbles . . . ) I gotta write this down . . . I got everything I need . . . for my new symphony . . . (mumbles . . . )

Mark:
"See, this is what happens when you join up a rock group, George, get off that jazz syndrome . . . there's no lust in jazz"

Larry The Dwarf:
Fantastic. Yes, I've got then now. Ah, give it soul, brother, get it on. Ah, those boys, those boys. They're driving me crazy.

Janet?:
Hey, look what's comin' through the door!

MUHAMMITZ . . .

Larry The Dwarf:
Ah, it's really great now . . . more paper, more paper . . . write . . . page two . . . (mumbles . . . ) Ah, another page! Don't leave me, oh, I can't live without your super substances, oh let me write that down, super substances! Yes! Oh, show me a little ass! Oh, scuze me . . . Oh, I want you now! C'mere you little darling!

0:37:36 The Pleated Gazelle

Blorp
Tss

The lad searches the night for his newts

Blorp!

Tsss-t

Blorp

Narrator:
The girl wants to fix him some broth

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Tinsel cock

Chorus:
Doo-wee-do
Tinsel cock my baby

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Would you like some broth?

Narrator:
Some nice soup

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Some hot broth?

Chorus:
Yum!

Narrator:
Small dogs in it

Chorus:
Doggies

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Do ya?

Narrator:
You like broth?

Chorus:
Doo wad'n' um

Narrator:
Dog broth?

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Hot broth?

Chorus:
Hot dog broth

Narrator:
You like
Dog broth hot?

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Hot dog debris?

Chorus:
Debris!

Narrator:
How d'ya like it?

Chorus:
Dog breath?
Dog broth?
Dog breath broth?

Narrator:
Debris?
Of the four styles offered:
Debris, broth, breath
And the ever popular, hygienic
European version
Tinsel cock!

Phyllis Bryn-Julson & Chorus:
Tinsel cock

Narrator:
Which do you choose?

Narrator:
The girl

Chorus:
Duh girl wants ta fix him some broth

Narrator:
In a statement to the press

Chorus:
D-d-d-duhhh

Narrator:
Explains . . .

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Broth reminds me of nuns

Chorus:
Nuns
Nuns
Nuns

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
I see them smashing

Chorus:
Kids

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
With rulers

Chorus:
Bap!

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Disciplining munchkin cretins
Tortured munchkins
Tortured munchkin

Chorus:
Munchkin cretins
Munchkin victims

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Irish Catholic victims
Little green scratchy sweaters

Chorus:
Sweaters

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Little green scratchy ones

Chorus:
Corduroy pants

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Brown corduroy pants

Chorus:
Doo ah
Doo ah

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Corduroy pants
An' green scratchy
Munchkin Irish Catholic victims

Chorus:
Munchkins
Munch-a-kins

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Munchkins get me hot

Chorus:
Oo ah

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Munchkins get me get me ee
Oo ah ee oo

Narrator:
Hot!
Gets her real hot!

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Why don't you strap on
This here bunch
Of cardboard boxes, daddy-o
(Joy of my desiring)
You'll certainly look suave
And get me hot
Hot
Hot
Get me hot and horny

Chorus:
Ah oo

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
If there's one thing I really get off on

Chorus:
YOINNGG!

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
It's a nun suit painted on some old boxes
Some old melodies
Four-four
An aura . . .
An areaola . . .
Pink gums . . .
Stumpy gray teeth . . .
Dental floss
Gets me hot
Wanna watch a dental hygiene movie?

0:42:31 Dental Hygiene Dilemma

Jeff:
Ha-nin-noon-toon han-toon-han

Good Conscience:
No, Jeff!

Jeff:
Han-toon-ran-toon-han-toon-fram-in
Han-toon-ran-toon-han-toon-fram-in

Good Conscience:
No no no!

Jeff:
Man! This stuff is great! It's just as if Donovan himself had appeared on my very own TV . . . with words of peace, love and eternal cosmic wisdom! Leading me . . . guiding me on paths of everlasting pseudo-karmic negligence in the very midst of my drug-induced . . . nocturnal emission.

Good Conscience:
. . . For I am your good conscience, Jeff, I know all . . . I see all . . . I am a cosmic love pulse matrix becoming a technicolor inter-positive.

Jeff:
Heh? . . . Where'd you buy that incense? It's hip.

Good Conscience:
It's the same and mysterious exotic oriental fragrance as what The Beatles get off on.

Jeff:
I thought I recognized it. Mmmm, what is that? Musk?

Good Conscience:
Jeff, I know what's good for you.

Jeff:
Right. You're heavy . . .

Good Conscience:
Yes, Jeff. I am your guiding light . . . listen to me . . . Don't rip off the towels, Jeff!

Bad Conscience:
Piss off, you little nitwit.

Jeff:
Hey man . . . what's the deal?

Good Conscience:
Don't listen to him, Jeff. He's no good . . . He'll make you do bad things!

Jeff:
You mean . . . he'll make me sin?

Good Conscience:
Yes, Jeff . . . sin.

Jeff:
Wow!

Bad Conscience:
Jeff, I'd like to have a word with you . . . about your soul . . .

Good Conscience:
No! Don't listen, Jeff!

Bad Conscience:
Why are you wasting your life . . . night after night playing this comedy music . . .

Jeff:
You're right . . . I'm too heavy to be in this group . . .

Bad Conscience:
Comedy music . . .

Good Conscience:
Jeff! Your soul!

Chorus:
You're wasting your life
You're much too heavy Jeff
To be

Jeff:
. . . In this group all I ever get to do is play Zappa's comedy music . . . He eats.

Good Conscience:
Jeff!

Jeff:
I get so tense . . .

Bad Conscience:
Of course you do, my boy

Jeff:
The stuff he makes me do
Is always off the wall

Bad Conscience:
That's why it would be best
To leave his stern employ

Jeff:
And quit the group . . .

Bad Conscience:
You'll make it big

Jeff:
That's right!

Bad Conscience:
Of course

Jeff:
And then I won't be small!

Chorus:
Ha ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha
He-he-he-he-he
Ho ho ho ho

Jeff:
Heh heh heh
. . . Cough cough . . . Ahmet Ertegun used this towel as a bath mat six weeks ago at a rancid motel in Orlando, Florida, with the highest mildew rating of any commercial lodging facility within the territorial limits of the United States, naturally excluding tropical possessions . . . mmmjigspffftgmmd . . . It's still damp! What an aroma!
This is the best I ever got off . . . What can I say about this elixir? Try it on steaks . . . cleans nylons . . . small craft warnings. It's great for the home . . . the office . . . on fruits . . .

Bad Conscience:
This is the real you, Jeff . . . Rip off a few more ashtrays, get rid of that inner tension, quit the comedy group . . . get your own group together . . . heavy . . . like Grand Funk. Or Black Sabbath!

Good Conscience:
No, Jeff!

Jeff:
. . . Or Coven!

Good Conscience:
Peace! Love!

Bad Conscience:
Bollocks!

Jeff & Mark:
What can I say about this elixir?

Mark:
Well, put it on your steaks, uh send it overseas [for . . . killing ground], and put it on your surfboard you won't slip off, try it on your [...], and on the, the red balloons, you can blow up all balloons with it. Put it on your . . . heh . . . on . . . on your pizzas. Put it on your shoes, tie your bike with it, and fill up your tires with it . . .

Howard:
Use it to clean your swimming pool, sell it to your mother and tell her it's a Rit tie-dye kit you won't even believe what'll happen when you starch your shirt with it. Ironing goes easier. And your car windows never looked better in your whole life. Ladies and gentlemen, you can inhale it and it makes your voice three keys higher, and you can't even stand what happens when you put it in your hair. As hair tonic. Heh heh. And if you ever tried it as a . . .

Jim Pons:
Soak your shirts in it, soak your teeth in it, let it play the piano, tow it up around the block, wear it instead of jeans, bathe your puppies with it, feed it to your ducks, use it instead of chlorine in your swimming pool, breathe it, rub it . . .

Group:
What . . .
What can I . . .
What . . .
What can I say about this . . .

Mark & Howard:
Dwee doo dee-oo-poo fram, minnn
Han nin-att
Han nin-att . . .

Jeff:
Does this kind of life look interesting to you? . . . Night after night, dinners with Herb Cohen, thrill-packed, fun-filled evenings, on the French Riviera at the Midem convention, a beige tie, the whole bit, watch Mutt eat and Leon feed the geese, one thousand green business cards with your name and the wrong address plus six royalty statements, inspected and customized by Rantoon Tan, Hantoon Frammin, and Dee, followed by twelve potential sucides, as the members of your group, past and present, find out they can't collect unemployment? A dog, a car, an epidemic of body lice, and your own record company, your name on the door, electric buzzer to the inner office, and Ona's tits, and a three month supply of German bookings with tickets on Air Rangoon. Does this kind of life look interesting to you? As a fake rock and roll guitar player in a comedy group?

Chorus:
Two Hundred Motels
Two Hundred Motels
Tan-toon ran-tan-na-na-han nnnn
Two Hundred Motels

Jeff:
I'm stealing the room
I'm stealing the room
I'm stealing the room

0:48:49 Penis Dimension

The Hot Nun:
I'm going to die. I know I'm going to die, I can tell because my pulse is so weak. The pills . . . I took so many downers that I know this is the end for me.

Janet:
You poor thing. You want us to fix your hair for you so you look good when they find you?

The Hot Nun:
Oh . . . would you?

Janet:
Sure, whaddyawant? A ponytail? A flat-top with fenders?

The Hot Nun:
I'm gonna die, Janet, I'm gonna O.D.! So, make me look good.

Janet:
Listen, the best I can do for you is fix your hair, so why don't you get up and wash that melted eye makeup off your face.

The Hot Nun:
Is it smeared? I've been crying so much . . . it's so damn sad when you know you'll never see all your friends anymore.

Janet:
Every week it's the same old thing. You're gonna die. You're gonna die. Somebody went out on you. Somebody doesn't love you anymore. How long you been a groupie? You should get used to romances which are so obviously cheap. Listen, just in case you crash out, and the imaginary rock and roll newspaper from San Francisco wants to get any pictures of you, you'll look like you washed your face. Really. It's better this way with a clean face. People think groupies are such dirty girls.

Aynsley:
Heh . . . I wouldn't mind sort of fucking all three of them!

Lucy:
Look, over there!

Janet:
What?

Lucy:
He's doing it, he's watching us from the fake bandstand with the binoculars!

Janet:
Who, the English dude?

Lucy:
Oh, rivet-boy!

The Hot Nun:
The rivet boy? Where?

Lucy:
Over there, wipe that stuff out of your eyes. It looks like he's beating off.

Janet:
Beating off? I knew he was a pervert.

Lucy:
Eww, how exciting. Hey, are you still trying to O.D.?

The Hot Nun:
Yes, this definitely is the end for me! I feel so faint! So weak!

Janet:
Good evening, honey, that was the most imaginary collapse I've seen since last week.

Lucy:
Janet, do you think she's going to die?

Janet:
Are you kidding? Did you see her hit the floor?

Lucy:
God, well it was so obviously cheap. Lift up your head, honey.

The Hot Nun:
I'm going to die. This time it's real.

Janet:
Listen, Lucy, we gotta get ready for our big dance number, we're going to the fake nightclub tonight.

The Hot Nun:
Everything's getting dim.

Lucy:
Why don't you tell her a story while you put your makeup on? Good evening.

Janet:
Oh. Listen, toots. I'm going to make up a nice little fairy tale for you.

The Hot Nun:
The pills, the Mandrax, I took so many of them.

Janet:
I'll tell you part of the story, and then you make up another part that goes along with it. Once upon a time there was a tall, handsome, muscular . . .

The Hot Nun:
Dwarf.

Janet:
. . . with a very special . . .

The Hot Nun:
Swedish apparatus!

Janet:
. . . that him and his friends would use in conjunction with . . .

The Hot Nun:
Bold new surgical experiments!

Janet:
. . . involving . . .

The Hot Nun:
A bludgeon, and a bottle of champagne . . .

Janet:
. . . and a . . .

The Hot Nun:
. . . microwave oven . . .

Janet:
. . . from a . . .

The Hot Nun:
. . . jumbo jet, one of the big jobs leased from Air Rangoon!

Janet:
. . . which, when used correctly . . .

The Hot Nun:
. . . can effectively increase the dimensions . . .

Janet:
. . . and firepower of your . . .

The Hot Nun:
. . . dick . . .

Janet:
. . . to the point where . . .

Lucy:
. . . in some instances, it should be classified as a lethal weapon!

Chorus:
Your dick

Mark & Howard:
Your dick

Chorus:
Your dork

Mark & Howard:
Your dork

Chorus:
Your prick

Mark & Howard:
Your prick

Chorus:
Your pork

Lucy:
Your pork?

Janet:
Pork?

Lucy:
Who calls it a pork? These men . . . and the stuff they call a wee-wee . . .

Group:
A wee-wee?

Rance:
You mean a penis, don't you

Lucy:
A penis? Eeuoo . . .

Janet:
Penis is such an ugly word!

Rance:
Not that ugly, really . . .

Mark:
Sure . . . I use it all the time

Howard:
Sure, sure . . . we all say it every once in a while . . . listen . . .

Group:
Penis

Janet & Lucy:
Eeuoo

Group:
Penis!
Penis!

Janet:
Eeuoo, it sounds so revolting the way you guys say it . . . Eeuoo . . . Ka-ka!

Janet & Lucy:
Ka-ka!

Rance:
A penis can be a very useful organ!

Howard:
Yeah . . . and very exciting too (when she gets to know me . . .)

Group:
Penis!

Lucy:
It sounds so overwhelmingly medicinal . . .

Janet:
A "penis" sounds like something a doctor would have hanging off of him . . .

Lucy:
None of the men I know & love in the rock & roll business got "penises" . . . they all got cocks or dicks at least!

Janet:
Sure . . . you want to go strap on a pop star and he wants to stuff a "penis" up you . . . where is that at?

Mark:
Let's ask our studio audience!

Chorus:
Loo loo loo
La la la doo doo doo wah
Dee dee dah doo doo doo

Mark:
Will you trade what he has in his pants for what I have behind this curtain?

Janet:
What is it?

Lucy:
You mean what's in his pants?

Janet:
I know what's in his pants . . . He's a lonely guy.

Chorus:
"Take the money"

Mark:
You have to choose before the big wheel stops whirling . . . You! . . . Hey, buddy, [guy marshall] . . . go whirl the big wheel

Lucy:
Can I just take the money?

Janet:
There isn't any money . . . just the curtain and . . .

Lucy:
. . . The lonely guy

Chorus:
"Take the curtain"

Mark:
Time is running out . . . Think it over carefully!

Janet:
The curtain?

Lucy:
I want the money.

Janet:
Wait!
What could it be in there?

Lucy:
In his pants?

Janet:
In the curtain!

Howard:
Doesn't anybody care what's in my pants?

Penis dimension!
Penis dimension?
Penis dimension is worrying me
I can't hardly sleep at night
'Cause of penis dimension

Do you worry?
Do you worry a lot

No!

Do you worry?
Do you worry and moan
That the size of your cock is not monstrous enough

No!

It's your penis dimension
Penis dimension

Howard:
Wah
Wah

Mark:
Hiya, friends. Now, just be honest about it . . . Did you ever consider the possibility that YOUR PENIS, and in the case of many dignified ladies, that the size of the titties themselves might provide elements of subconscious tension?! Weird, twisted anxieties that could force a human being to have to become a politician, a policeman, a Jesuit Monk, a rock & roll guitar player, a wino . . . you name it! Or, in the case of the ladies, the ones that can't afford a silicone beef-up, they become writers of hot books . . .

Howard:
"Manuel, the gardener, placed his burning phallus in her quivering quim . . ."

Mark:
Yes, or they become Carmelite Nuns . . .

Howard:
". . . Gonzo, the lead guitar player, placed his mutated member in her slithering slit . . ."

Mark:
. . . Or race horse jockeys! There is no reason why you or your loved ones should suffer. Things are bad enough without the size of your organ adding even more misery to the troubles of the world!

Howard:
Right on! Right on!

Mark:
Now, if you are a lady and you've got munchkin tits, you can console yourself with this age-old line from primary school:

Mark & Howard:
"ANYTHING OVER A MOUTHFUL IS WASTED!"

Mark:
Yes, and isn't it the truth?! And if you're a guy and one night you're at a party and you're trying to be cool . . . I mean, you aren't even wearing any underwear you're being so cool . . . and somebody hits on you one night and he looks you up and down and he says:

Howard:
"Eight inches or less?"

Mark:
Well, let me tell you brothers, that's the time when you got to turn around and look that sonafabitch right between the eyes and you got to tell him these words . . .

Larry The Dwarf:
I stuff three pair of socks and a bar of beauty soap down in front of my pants!

1:00:27 Shove It Right In

includes Janet's Big Dance Number and Lucy's Seduction Of A Bored Violinist

She painted up her face
She sat before the mirror
She painted up her face
She drew the mirror nearer

Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!

The STARE!
The STARE!

(The 'secret stare' she would use
If a worthy-looking victim should appear)

Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!
(Ah-hoo-ah-hoo-wah-hoo-wahhhh)
Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!

The clock upon the wall
Has struck the midnight hour!
She finishes her call;
Her girlfriend's in the shower

Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!

Half a dozen provocative squats!
Out of the shower, she squeezes her spots;
Brushes her teeth;
Shoots a deodorant spray up her twat . . .
(It's getting her, getting her
Hot—Oh-woh-woh-woh-woh-woh)
She's just twenty-four
And she can't get off,
A sad but typical case, yeah
Last dude to do her
Got in and got soft;
She blew it,
And laughed in his face, yeah!
Face, yeah!
Yeah

She chooses all the clothes
She'll wear tonight to dance in!
(She dances, she prances, she dances, she prances
She prances, she prances, she . . . )
The places that she goes
Are filled with guys from groups,
(Yeah-yeah-yeah)
Waiting for a chance to break her pants in

PROVOCATIVE SQUATS!
(gum-me-on-m'lung-a)
PROVOCATIVE SQUATS!
(gum-me-on-m'lung-a)
PROVOCATIVE SQUATS!
(gum-me-on-m'lung-a)
PROVOCATIVE SQUATS!
(gum-me-on-m'lung-a)

Well, at least there's sort of a choice there;
Twenty or thirty at times there have been—
Somewhat desirable boys there—
Dressed really spiffy, with long hair—
Waiting for girls they can shove it right in

Well, at least there's sort of a choice there;
Twenty or thirty at times there have been—
Somewhat desirable boys there—
Dressed really spiffy, with long hair—
Waiting for girls they can shove it right in

1:09:31 What Will This Morning Bring Me This Evening?

includes Daddy, Daddy, Daddy

Larry The Dwarf:
Hello there. All the guys in the band are pretending to get ready so they can go out and find some pussy.

Mark:
Oh, I wonder where the action is in this town?

Larry The Dwarf:
Every musician likes to find some pussy.

Howard:
Boy, I coulda really scored last night. But every night its the same thing—Aynsley gets there first. He's so FAST . . . it must be from playing the drums or something. I mean . . . if those girls over there only knew my secret identity, but . . . but how COULD they? How— how could they know that I am Bwana Dik?

Aynsley:
Where's my hair dryer? Got to look lovely for the girls. After all, I am Bwana Dik.

Larry The Dwarf:
Each guy has his own speciality for getting the girl of his dreams.

Howard:
I sprayed my pits . . . I put on a new tie-dye t-shirt . . . I brushed my teeth . . .

Mark:
I cleaned my glasses . . .

Ian:
I buffed my nails.

George:
I bought a copy of Down Beat so I could carry it around and look like I knew what was happening.

Aynsley:
I left my shirt unbuttoned at the top . . .

Howard:
I just KNOW I'm gonna get laid tonight. I'm not taking any chances. I got this little jar of tinsel glitter here . . . the same brand Danny Hutton puts on his face that makes him look all . . . glistening and seductive. Just put a little on here . . . the cheeks . . . the chin . . . mmm, the quivering lips . . . I'm so commercial I could die! Somebody . . . TURN ON A BLUE SPOTLIGHT!!!

What will this morning bring me this evening?
Some local hot action (I'm a young lonely guy)
Before we are leaving (maybe we can get some head)
Go to the club or the bar or wherever the pussy is found
In the town your band's been booked to play in
It's always a little bit harder to score
If it's just your first time in a town you never hit before

If you played in it once and got laid
You've got it made, ahhh, got it made
If it's just your first time
Then you know it's no fun to go
Back to a plastic hotel all alone

Go to the club or the bar
Go to the club or the bar
Go to the club or the bar
Or wherever the pussy is found

Announcer: One minute to post time. Approaching the gate. There's the post.

None may resist him.

Announcer: They're moving into the gate.

Three cheeseburgers.

Wow.

Boy, do I need it!

Open up! Open up!
Wait a minute . . . Open up!

Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?

She's such a dignified lady
She's so pretty and soft
You can't call her a groupie
It just pisses her off
(Yeah)
She got diamonds and jewelry
She got lotsa new clothes
She ain't hurtin' for money
So that everyone knows

That she knows what she wants
(Do it, d'ya wanna-wanna? . . .)
Knows what she likes
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Look out . . . she's got her eyes on you

She left her place after midnight
(La la la la la)
And she drove to the club
(La la la la-ee-ah!)
You know that her and her partner
(La la la la la)
Came here lookin' for love
(La la la la-ee-ah!)
They want a guy from a group
(La la la la la)
Got a thing in a charts
(La la la la-ee-ah!)
IF HIS DICK IS A MONSTER
IF HIS DICK IS A MONSTER
IF HIS DICK IS A MONSTER
They will give him their hearts

'Cause they know what they want
(Do it, d'ya wanna-wanna? . . .)
And they know what they like
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Look out . . . they got their eyes on you

FAM-BAM-YAK-A-TA-TAHHH!

They know what they want
Know what they like
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Awright, you got 'em screamin' all night
(La la la la la)
Screamin' all night

Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
It's a Bentley!
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
It's a Cooper!
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
It's a Chevy!
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
Or a Lincoln!
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
['Cause they're dancin'!]
(Ooh!)

Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
[...]
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
[...]
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
[...]
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo . . .

Don:
Oh wow, what a night. What's the matter, didn't you get any action tonight?

Jeff:
Didn't you use to be with The Mothers?

Don:
Yeah.

Jeff:
Is this what you do now?

Don:
I've got my own group, too. I don't mind being in this movie. I get a chance to transform a few times, drink these vile, foamy liquids.

Jeff:
Bleagh. What kind of a life is that?

Don:
It's not that bad! Really! I like to be a monster every once in a while!

Jeff:
No one will ever take you seriously after this.

Don:
Why, because I transform? I like to be a monster! There's a little monster in every one of us.

Jeff:
You'll probably stay here for the rest of your life with your fake potions and your twisted monster face. You coulda been something in rock and roll.

Don:
I tried to get a hit single. It drove me to drink.

Jeff:
Ugh.

Don:
Hoo-hoo-ha-ha . . .

Jeff:
Go on, laugh about it. You could have been a star. You could have spread your aura across vast continental areas, your name on millions of small, hot lips, whispering under secure, pink blankets in the lonely midnight dark. But, what do you do? You join The Mothers and you end up working for Zappa! And he makes you be a creep! You could have played the blues with John Mayall, or far-out exciting jazz with Blood, Sweat & Tears.

Don:
You really think so?

Jeff:
Look, no one'll ever take you seriously after this . . . how can they take you seriously? In this business you either gotta play the blues or sing with a high voice.

Don:
You're right, I never should have joined The Mothers. Why, I could be a star now! Oh . . .
when I think of all those millions of . . .

Jeff:
Hey.

Don:
Hot pink juicy little . . .

Jeff:
Hey. Listen, do you know where I can uh, get any dope in this imaginary town?

Don:
Man, there's no dope in this town. Just these vile, foamy liquids.

Jeff:
Well, they're fake, aren't they?

Don:
No, they're real! I mix them myself at home, and then I bring them in the morning . . . secret spiritual formulas . . .

Jeff:
Ew, what's a secret spiritual formula?

Don:
The stuff that goes in the elixir, the potion, whatever I mix is irrelevant to the result.

Jeff:
You mean they're fake potions, right?

Don:
Look, it doesn't matter what's in the mix. It's the liquid! The concept . . . of the liquid . . . is enough to trigger a special cosmic aware state. It's because I'm so spiritually evolved . . .

Jeff:
Oh, listen, I just wanna get out of it, and go back to me fake motel room and play the blues, you know. Fuck your spiritual evolvement. Anyway, what happens if a new and exciting blues talent such as meself drinks your stuff?

Don:
Here. Take this back to your fake room. Drink it.

Jeff:
I'd feel a lot happier if there was something I could smoke.

Don:
Well, here. Dip this in it. Now, let it dry out. That ought to get you a little high. Or something.

Jeff:
Ew, I can't take you seriously.

Don:
Look, you might as well take this too.

Jeff:
I know its only fake potion. Well, listen, we should get together sometime. Have a jam. Yeah, play some blues. Extensions! Why not some extended blues licks? White people can play the blues, you know.

Don:
Paul! . . . Oh, Frank. Yeah, I gave it to him. Yeah, he went back to the special room. No, no. He's gonna smoke it. Yeah, right. Hey, listen. You got any idea when we're gonna get paid for this?

1:22:17 What Will This Evening Bring Me This Morning?

includes Mysterioso and Dental Hygiene Dilemma

What will I say
The next day to whatever
I drag to my hotel tonight?
(If things go all right!)

What will I say
The next day to whatever
I drag to my hotel tonight?
(Will she be outasite?)

What will this evening
Bring me this morning?
What will this evening
Bring me this morning?
A succulent fat one
A mod little flat one
Maybe a hot one (to give me the clap!)
Maybe a freak who gets off with a strap

What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?)
If things go all right!
(If things go all right!)

What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?)
Will she be outasite?
(Will she be outasite?)

What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?)
If things go all right!
(If things go all right!)

What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?)
Will she be outasite?
(Will she be outasite?)

Jeff:
Well, listen, we should get together sometime. Have a jam. Yeah, play some blues. Extensions! Why not some extended blues licks? White people can play the blues, you know.
Extensions! Why . . .
Extensions! Wny . . .
Extensions! Why . . .
Extensions! Why not some extended blues licks?
Why not some extended blues licks?

Don:
Yeah, I gave it to him. Yeah, he went back to the special room. No, no. He's gonna smoke it.

Howard:
Jeff has gone out there on that stuff.

Good Conscience:
He should have never have used the elixir . . . and only stuck to the incense . . . Oh Atlantis.

Mark:
That was Billy The Mountain dressed up like Donovan fading out on the wall mounted TV screen. Jeff is . . . flipping out . . . road fatigue . . . We gotta get him back to normal before Zappa finds out . . . and steals it and makes him do it in the movie!

Bad Conscience:
You have a brilliant career ahead of you, my boy . . . just get out of this group!

Mark:
Howard! That was Studebaker Hoch dressed up like Jim Pons giving career guidance to the bass player of a rock-oriented comedy group! Jeff's imagination has gone beyond the fringe of audience comprehension.

Howard:
Jeff, Jeff, it's me, The Phlorescent Leech!

Mark:
Jeff, Jeff, it's me, Eddie!

Jeff:
I'm stealing the towels! Ha ha . . . ha ha . . .

Chorus:
I'm stealing the room
I'm stealing the . . .
I'm stealing the room
Stealing
I'm stealing the . . .
I am . . . mmm
Steel
I am steel
Steel
S-s-steel
I am steel
Steel

1:27:01 Strictly Genteel (The Finale)

includes 200 Motels Finale

Theodore Bikel:
This, as you may have gathered, is the end of the movie. The entire cast is assembled here at the Centerville Recreational Facility to bid farewell to you, and to express thanks for your attendance at this theater. This might seem old fashioned to some of you, but I'd like to join in on this song. It's the kind of a sentimental song that you get at the end of a movie, it's the kind of a song that people might sing to let you in the audience know that we really like you and care about you, yeah . . . Understand how hard it is to laugh these days, with all the terrible problems in the world!

Lord, have mercy on the people in England,
For the terrible food these people must eat
(Bwaarp! . . . excuse me a minute)
And may the Lord have mercy on the fate of this movie
And God bless the mind of the man in the street

Chorus:
Help all the rednecks and the flatfoot policemen
On the terrible functions they all must perform
God help the wine-os, the junkies and the weirdos

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
And every poor soul who's adrift in the storm

Group & Chorus:
Help everybody so they all get some action,
Some love on the weekend, some real satisfaction

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
A room and a meal
And a garbage disposal
A lawn and a hose'll
Be strictly genteel

Group:
Lord have mercy on the hippies and faggots
And the dykes and the weird little children they grow

Help the black man
Help the poor man
Help the milk man
Help the door man
Help the lonely, neglected old farts that I know

Mark:
Well, it certainly has been swell . . .

JCB:
If your name wasn't on the list of blessings we've been passing out tonight, we don't want you to be pissed off.

Howard:
No . . .

Mark:
We don't want you to leave that theater.

Theodore Bikel:
Forgive him, for he knows not what he does.

Mark:
But before we go on, I'd like to introduce to you . . .

Theodore Bikel:
On the other hand, maybe he does know . . .

Mark:
. . . my good friend and musical associate, Mr. Howard Kaylan, who's about to give us a closing final benediction.

Howard:
They're gonna clear out the studio
They're gonna tear down all the . . .
They're gonna whip down all the . . .
They're gonna sweep out all the . . .
They're gonna pay off all the . . .

Mark:
Oh, yeah!

Group:
And then . . .
And then . . .
And then . . .
And then . . .

Hey hey hey, everybody in the orchestra and the chorus
Talkin' 'bout every one of our lovely and talented dancers
Talkin' 'bout the light bulb men
Camera men
The make-up men
(The fake-up men)
Yeah, the rake-up men
(Especially Herbie Cohen, yeah . . .)
They're all gonna rise up
They're gonna jump up
I said jump up
Talkin' 'bout jump right up and off the floor
Jump right up and hit the door
They're all gonna rise up and jump off!
They're gonna ride on home
They're gonna ride on home
They're gonna ride on home
They're gonna ride on home
And once again
Take themselves
Seriously, yeeeah!
Two, three, four, seriously
They're all gonna go home (ye-hey!)
Through the driving sleet and rain
They're all gonna go home
Through the fog, through the dust
Through the tropical fever and the blistering frost
They're all gonna go home
And get out of it as they can be, baby
And the same goes for me
(The same goes for me)
Oh, yeah!
Oh, yeah!
Oh, yeah!
Oh, yeah!

And each and every member of this rock oriented comedy group in his own special way
Is gonna get out of it as he can be
We all gonna get wasted
We all gonna get twisted
We all gonna get wasted
We all gonna get twisted
And I am definitely gonna get . . .
REAMED
'Cause I'm such a lonely
I'm such a lonely
A lonely, lonely, talkin' 'bout a lonely guy!

Howard:
Oh, and I know tonight, I am definitely . . .
I am positively . . .
I just have to get . . .

Group:
BENT, REAMED AND WASTED

JCB & Group:
A disaster area the size of Atlantic City, New Jersey!

Howard:
He's making me do this, ladies and gentlemen. I wouldn't do it if it weren't for this. You noticed, all through this material, I've been glancing over toward my left? Well, I'll tell you the reason for that, ladies and gentlemen. HE is over there. HE is over on the left. HE is the guy that is making me do all this shit. Right over there. Now all through this movie, every time we've been on stage, I've had to look over in that direction, right? You saw it . . . you know. Well that's 'cause HE's over there. I've got to watch him for time. He jumps up and down like a jackass. I can't even believe the guy sometimes. But we gotta watch him. "After all," we said, "it's Frank's movie." Now, we're THE MOTHERS, but it's still Frank's movie, you understand? He got the bread for this, he rented the studio, had all these cheesy sets painted . . . it's so moche! I can't even stand it . . . Here we are. He's telling everybody, right now, right over there, to . . .

1:37:32 Postlude

Dick Barber
David Alexander

Dear Tommy,

200 MOTELS

I would be grateful if you would ensure that all meals,
bar bills and orders for coffee, etc., are, from this date
forwards, to be paid for by the person ordering them.
The only exceptions to this rule are the personnel listed
on the other memo I have sent you.

Regards,

David Alexander
Production Manager

Special Material
MARK VOLMAN
HOWARD KAYLAN

Orchestra Leader
COLIN STAVELEY
Orchestra Chairman
JOHN LOWDELL
Acting Orchestra
General Manager
TOM PETZAL
Orchestra Conductor
ELGAR HOWARTH
Chorus
TOP SCORE SINGERS
Choral Director
DAVID VAN ASCH

Animation
MURAKAMI WOLF PROD.
Animation Director
CHARLES SWENSON
Graphic Production
CAL SCHENKEL
KUNIMI TERADA
FUMIKO ROCHE
ELIZABETH WRIGHT
WILMA GUENOT
ANN OLIPHANT

Production Design
CAL SCHENKEL
Art Director
LEO AUSTIN

Unit Production Manager
DAVID ANDERSON
Lion Television Services
Production Manager
ROY GARNER
Lion Television Services
Controller
TOM KEYLOCK
Assistant Director
DAVID ALEXANDER
2nd Assistant Director
JIM MC CUTCHEON
Dancers Music Associate
RAY COOK
Lighting Director
PETER DYSON
Technical Director
ALAN MASHFORD
Sound Supervisor
PETER HUBBARD
16 Track Recordist
ROBERT AUGER
Continuity Clerk
LYN GOMEZ
Production Secretary
JAQI WILLIAMSON
Vision Mixer
ANNE ROWE
Vision Supervisor
ROLAND BROWN

Construction Supervisor
HARRY PHIPPS
Costume Design
SUE YELLAND
Hairdresser
MERVYN MEDALIE
Makeup
PAUL RABIGER
Unit Publicist
IAN STOCK
Special Effects
BERT LUXFORD
Still Photographer
BARRY PEAKE
Wire Specialist
INKY INGRAM
Props
PADDY BENNETT

Vision Engineers
RICHARD THOMPSON
SELWYN MINDEL
NEVILLE HOKSFIELD

Cameramen
DAVE SWAN
BARRIE DODD
MIKE FITCH
JOHN HOWARD

Video Tape Editors
BARRY STEPHENS
RAY NUNNEY

Dubbed at
TODD A-O

Film Editing
RICH HARRISON

Video Tape
Transfer to Film
TECHNICOLOR-ENGLAND
Video Tape
Equipment
LION TELEVISION SERVICES

Produced at
PINEWOOD STUDIOS
IVERHEATH, ENGLAND

1:38:49 —end—

 

All compositions by Frank Zappa except as noted
Site maintained by Román García Albertos
http://globalia.net/donlope/fz/
Original transcription for new material by Patrick Neve
Further corrections and additions by Román and Charles Ulrich
The parts on the original albums are printed this way
This page updated: 2017-12-16