One . . . two . . . one, two, three . . .
Good evening. Awright. Okay, now listen. WE ARE MAKING A MOVIE. Not only that, not only are we making a movie. You see, I figured it was time I made another movie, it's been a long time since 200 Motels, and so, I felt that the people all over the world needed to see another weird kind of a movie. You're ready, I know you're ready. Okay. That's WHY we're making the movie, now here's HOW we're making the movie. All you people have to do is remember that the camera man is your friend, the camera man is here to take pictures of everybody. The camera men are named Bob, Phil and Dick. Brooklyn!
Is your name really Chrissie? How big are your tits? Alright, Chrissie. Alright! I hope that the— Hey, you again! You're looking good tonight. Looking really good. Alright. Don't let the cameras and the extra lights bother you, don't let them get in the way of your enjoyment of the show. We're gonna try not to let them get in the way of our enjoyment of the program.
We're gonna start up now with a song— That's right! A very nice sign. You just keep showing that to me and I'll do a wonderful show. We're gonna start up with a song from the Apostrophe (') album.
In the dark
Where all the fevers grow
Under the water
Where the shark bubbles blow
In the mornin'
By yer radio
Do the walls close in t' suffocate ya
You ain't got no friends . . .
An' all the others: they hate ya
Does the life you been livin' gotta go, uh?
Lemme straighten you out
About a place I know . . .
(Now get yer shoes 'n socks on people,
Because it's right aroun' the corner!)
They go out through the night
An' the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The Imaginary Diseases,
Out through the night
An' the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The Imaginary Diseases
Oh, hit it, Adrian! Come on now!
Oh, give 'em some fuzztone
Alright, alright . . .
Now scientists call this disease
Bromidrosis, that's right
And well they should
But us regular folks
Who might wear a tennis shoe
Or an occasional python boot
Know this exquisite little inconvenience
By the name of:
STINK FOOT
That's right!
You know, my python boot was too tight
I couldn't get it off last night
A week went by, an' now it's July
I finally got that sucker off
An' my girl-friend cry
"You got STINK FOOT!
STINK FOOT, darlin'
Your stinking foot puts the hurts on my nose!
STINK FOOT! STINK FOOT! I ain't lyin',
Can you rinse it off, d'you suppose?"
Here Fido . . . Here Fido . . .
Bring the slippers, little puppy
That's a good dog
Bring them right over here . . .
"Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf!"
Sick!
In the beginning God made 'the light.' Shortly thereafter God made three big mistakes. The first mistake was called MAN, the second mistake was called WO-MAN, and the third mistake was the invention of THE POODLE. Now the reason the poodle was such a big mistake is because God originally wanted to build a Schnauzer, but he fucked up. Now a long time ago, the poodle used to be a very attractive dog. The poodle had hair evenly distributed all over its small piquant canine type BODY. That's the way it used to be, the poodle used to be a regular looking dog. You know it's true, I guess you do too. (Oh, I have to kiss you? Oh okay.)
Anyway listen, check this out. The poodle used to look good, you know the regular dogs that used to hang out in the neighborhood looked at the poodle, didn't think anything of it. You know, they didn't use to make fun of it in the olden days. But the WO-MAN, as you know, has always been much smarter than the MAN.
Thank you. "Brooklyn for Zappa [A-card] The present day composer refuses to die." There should be an Edgard Varèse credit right down there, it should have his name on it. Thank you. Okay.
(You're the best!)
That stuff is very bad for you, throw it away, okay. Now you're interrupting my story, now listen . . . What is that? Is that the Tower of Power or what? Oh no no, it's one of those dope fiend devices, take it away.
Just take that thing— Take that and stuff it up David Berman's butt.
Now listen . . .
The WO-MAN has always been much smarter than the MAN, you know this is true. And so it was since the beginning of time. The MAN would do anything to get some pussy. And that's why the WO-MAN always had control over him.
In the beginning the WO-MAN looked the MAN directly into the eye and said: "I tell you what, why don't you go get a job because I could use a few nice things around the house. Mainly what I need is a clipper, a scissors, and a pair of zircon encrusted tweezers." (Thank you very much.)
And of course the MAN did his duty as they say in the trade. He went out and he got a goddamn job. Went out and pushed that broom around for about a dollar-2.98 an hour, brought his money back to the garden of Eden and gave that money to the WO-MAN.
The WO-MAN ran out the back door of the garden of Eden, went directly to the hardware store, got the clippers, the scissors and the zircon encrusted tweezers and came back and, while the MAN was very tired from having his job, while he was sleeping, the WO-MAN got a hold of the POODLE. Because the WO-MAN had noticed earlier that the length and proportion of the poodle oral appendage, the tongue of the dog in other words, ladies and gentlemen, was very much to her liking, except that this dog had too goddamn much hair on it. It didn't have the disco look that's so popular nowadays.
And so the WO-MAN set out to modify the aforementioned dog. Let me get a little uh, visual aid . . .
Now she took the dog and she cleaned it up a little bit. You see, she took a little bit off the back-part here, around the neck, the thorax, the tootsies. Got all of the unwanted extraneous material off this area which we shall call Burbank. Then she set the little sucker up like this, really nice, got his mouth set up like that. And squatted right ON HIM. Looking down into the dog's eyes. She looked down into the dog's eyes, do you know what she said to the dog?
She said . . .
Give me
Your dirty love
Like you might surrender
To some dragon in your dreams
Give me
Your dirty love
Like a pink donation
To the dragon in your dreams
I don't want your sweet devotion
I don't need your cheap emotion
Whip me up a little dragon lotion
For your dirty love
Your dirty love
(Todd Rundgren, ladies and gentlemen!)
Your dirty love
Your dirty love
Give me
Your dirty love
Like some tacky little pamphlet
In your daddy's bottom drawer
Give me
Your dirty love
I don't believe you never seen
His book before
I don't want your perspiration
I don't need your reservation
I only got one destination
An' that's your dirty love
Your dirty love
Your dirty love
Your dirty love
Alright!
Give me
Your dirty love
Just like your mama
Make that fuzzy poodle do
Give me
Your dirty love
Just like your mama
Make that nasty poodle chew
I'll ignore your cheap aroma
And your little-bo-peep diploma
I'll just put you in a coma
With some dirty love
That dirty love
That dirty love
That dirty love
THE POODLE BITES!
THE POODLE CHEWS IT!
THE POODLE BITES!
AND THE POODLE CHEWS IT!
AND THE POODLE BI-ITES!
AND THE POODLE CHEWS IT!
AND THE POODLE BI-ITES!
AND THE POODLE CHEWS IT!
AND THE POODLE BITES!
AND THE POODLE CHEWS IT!
AND THE POODLE BI-ITES!
AND THE POODLE CHEWS IT!
Alright. It's now time for us to go into another song that may be familiar to you. Here at the home of the hits, ladies and gentlemen!
The name of this song is "Peaches En Regalia."
Flies all green 'n buzzin' in his dungeon of despair
Prisoners grumble and piss their clothes and scratch their matted hair
A tiny light from a window hole a hundred yards away
Is all they ever get to know about the regular life in the day;
An' it stinks so bad the stones been chokin'
'N weepin' greenish drops
In the room where the giant fire puffer works
'N the torture never stops, yeah
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops
Slime 'n rot, rats 'n snot 'n vomit on the floor
Fifty ugly soldiers, man, holdin' spears by the iron door
Knives 'n spikes 'n guns 'n the likes of every tool of pain
An' a sinister midget with a bucket an' a mop where the blood goes down the drain;
An' it stinks so bad the stones been chokin'
'N weepin' greenish drops
In the room where the giant fire puffer works
'N the torture never stops
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops
Turn all screams up!
Sing along!
Flies all green 'n buzzin' in his dungeon of despair
An evil prince eats a steamin' pig in a chamber right near there
He eats the snouts 'n the trotters first
The loins 'n the groins is soon dispersed
His carvin' style is well rehearsed
He stands and shouts
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
And disagree, well no-one durst
He's the best of course of all the worst
(He's the best of course of all the worst)
Some wrong been done, he done it first
(Some wrong been done, he done it first)
An' he stinks so bad, his bones been chokin'
'N weepin' greenish drops,
In the night of the iron sausage,
Where the torture never stops, yeah
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops
Awright!
Flies all green 'n buzzin' in his dungeon of despair
Who are all these people that he's locked away down there
Are they crazy?
Are they sainted?
Are they zeros someone painted?
It has never been explained since at first it was created
But a dungeon just like a sin
Requires naught but lockin' in
Of everything that's ever been
Look at her
Look at him
That's what's the deal we're dealing in
That's what's the deal we're dealing in
That's what's the deal we're dealing in
That's what's the deal we're dealing in
Hey! I'm only fourteen
Sickly 'n thin
Tried all of my life
Just to grow me a chin
It popped out once
Yeah, but my dad pushed it in
Tell me, why did he hurt me?
Lord, he's my next of kin . . .
He's a mex-i-kin
I'm lonely 'n green;
Too small for my shirt
If Simmons was here
I could feature my hurt
Scared of the future
'N I hope I don't grow
Listen, nobody likes me
'Cause everywhere that I go
They say NO
They say NO
They say NO
NO
They say NO
Now I'm older
Got a place in the town, babe
Got a chin on my shoulder
'N it keeps growing down 'n down 'n down
I'm horny 'n lonely
'N I wish I was dead
Somebody tell me
Why am I livin'?
Lord, I wanna be dead instead
That's right, I said
I wanna be dead instead
Now dig this:
I wanna be dead
In bed
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Get the picture?)
I wanna be dead
In bed
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Hey!)
I wanna be dead
(Lord, I wanna be dead instead)
In bed
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Be dead in bed, yeah)
I wanna be dead
(Ooh . . . )
In bed
(Just as sure as my name is Terry Ted, Terry Ted)
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Kill me)
I wanna be dead
(Fill me)
In bed
(Thrill me)
Please kill me
(With some love)
'Cause that would thrill me
(Kill me)
I wanna be dead
(Fill me)
In bed
(Wah!)
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
One more time for the world!
I wanna be dead
(Yeah-hey!)
In bed
(I wanna be dead instead)
Please kill me
(Be dead in bed)
'Cause that would thrill me
I wanna be dead
(Love my little girl)
In bed
(Gimme some head, hey-hey-hey)
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
('Cause I'm only fourteen)
I wanna be dead
(Sickly 'n green)
In bed
Please kill me
(Feelin' really lean
I'm in love, see
Ooh!)
'Cause that would thrill me
I wanna be dead
(Too small for my shirt)
In bed
(Feature my hurt)
Please kill me
(Wah-hah!)
'Cause that would thrill me
City of tiny lites
Don't you wanna go
Hear the tiny auto horns
When they tiny blow
Tiny lightnin'
In the storm
Tiny blankets
Keep you warm
Tiny pillows
Tiny tiny tiny tiny sheets
Talkin' bout them tiny cookies
That the peoples eat
City of tiny lites
Maybe you should know
That it's over there
In the tiny dirt somewhere
You can see it any time
When you get the squints
From your downers and your wine
You're so big
It's so tiny
Every cloud is silver line-y
The great escape for all of you
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do
City of tiny lites
Don't you wanna go
Hear the tiny auto horns
([...])
When they tiny blow
Tiny lightnin'
In the storm
Tiny blankets
Keep you warm
Tiny pillows
Hey, tiny tiny tiny tiny sheets
Talkin' bout them tiny cookies
That the peoples eat
That the peoples eat
That the peoples eat
That the peoples eat
And it's over there
And it's over there
And it's over there
And it's over there
How did you like that one?
Awright. See that? That's what you call a new song. When I'm gonna stand up here and read the son of a bitch while I'm doing it. We figured that this is a good place to do this song. It's only been performed once before and that was the, the evening after it was actually written in uh, Boston. I'll tell you the story of this song. This is called CREATIVE DEVIATION FROM THE NORMAL PART OF THE PROGRAM, simply because you trust the audience's good taste so much that you know that even if the band fucks up they'll go along with it. Awright. Because, ladies and gentlemen, this song has an important message and I believe this message has to be brought to the people of this great metropolitan area.
Awright, now check this out. How many of you people feel that ROCK has gotten entirely TOO PREPOSTEROUS? I see that you're not all convinced. Some of you believe that ROCK is REAL. I can see that there was probably about 20 percent of the audience has had it up to here, and the rest of you people still believe in that shit. Okay, well this is dedicated to the rest of you people that still believe in that shit.
Now check this out: How d- how do you rationalize the appearance of an album entitled I'm In You? I mean, wha . . . what, what is that? Is that guy kidding? (What, I gotta kiss you again? Okay.) Really, look, all kidding aside, folks. Let's think about the world of rock, just for a moment. Some of you already have those cute little shirts on that say "disco sucks," right? That's not all that sucks. 'Course Warner Brothers sucks, but besides Warner Brothers there are other things about this business that really suck. One of 'em is the way in which the subject of LOVE is dealt with in the lyrics of various 'serious rock artists,' the intensive-care contingent of the rock world. These people, these people are FUCKED UP, they're really FUCKED UP. Because see, love isn't the way they're telling you about it, you know, they're telling you wrong. I'm gonna tell you right, you see.
A few handy pointers . . . a few handy pointers about the subject of love. First of all, love is not the end of the world. Love is the BEGINNING of the world, you see. Many people write about the subject of love as if that was some ultimate attainment to a spirit. Go fuck yourself! But no, really, ladies and gentlemen, they are trying to stultify your minds, because you can have love where you can go beyond that into realms that are even more interesting. I won't bore you with the details, but uh . . . check this out. This song is called, you already know 'bout "I'm In You," right? This song is called "I Have Been In You."
Now all of the ladies in the audience, you get to have fantasy time. This is female fantasy hour. Okay? You're a teen-age girl, right? You have abducted the succulent popstar of your choice, right? You have taken the aforementioned popstar, who is really cute and Aryan and eats a lot of crumpets, back to your teen-age room. That's right, spindle twice. You have taken this turkey back to your room, you have laid on your teen-age bed, you have put your teen-age legs up in the air, you have actually taken your own teen-age pants off. You have the teen-age red bulb on, right next to the bed. The curtains are drawn, it's dark, it's midnight. You put on a Phoebe Snow record, you're really relaxing. Tears come to your eyes, you are sensitive, you are in love. The popstar of your choice takes off his pants and climbs on top of you, and the next thing you know you hear this little voice in your ear and it says:
"I'M IN YOU!"
Okay. You know— You know how the rest of that might go. Now here's my song . . .
I have been in you, darling
And you
Have been in me
And we
Have be
So intimately
Entwined
And it sure was fine
I have been in you, baby
And you
Have been in me
So you see
We
Have be so together
I thought that we would never
Return from forever
You
Have been in me
And understandably
I have been in 'n out of you
An' everywhere
You want me to
Yes, you know it's true;
And while
I was inside
I might have been
Undignified
And that is maybe
Why you cried
I don't know
Maybe so,
But just remember now!
I have been in you, baby
You have been in me
There ain't no time
To wash your hand
Go 'head 'n roll over
I'm goin' in you again
I'm going in you again, baby
You can go in me too,
That's right
I'm goin' in you again, baby
'N later when we get through
Guess what?
I'm goin' in you again, baby
And you can go in me too
That's right
I'm goin' in you again, baby
'N later when we get through
Guess what?
I'm goin' in you again . . .
(I'M IN YOU!
I'M IN YOU!
I'M IN YOU!
I'M IN YOU!
I'M IN YOU! I'M IN YOU!
I'M IN YOU!)
Silvester Stallone, ladies and gentlemen!
Awright. Thank you. Hey, that was kind of fun, I enjoyed it. You guys aren't in any hurry tonight, are you? . . . Alright.
Hey, would you like to hear some other new songs we've been working on that aren't completely ready yet? . . . Alright. Okay. Now this one, this one really isn't in very good condition at all, but I wanna test it on ya, because, you see, this song is about the Disco Boy's father.
Now you gotta imagine— You know about Disco Boy, you gotta imagine that his dad wants to stay young. And to stay young, you think young. You also dress young. That means you have to get several chains around your neck. One of them must have a shark tooth on it. Another one must have a tiny golden spoon and maybe a [...] or some other sort of religious artifact. You must wear some sort of very casual clothing that would be open to your navel. You must look good. The trouble only starts when you go to a discotheque and try and dance with the rest of those assholes that are pumping their buttocks around down there.
Now this song— This song is called "Dancin' Fool," and it is in such bad repair at this stage of the game, that I'm gonna have to dwindle back over there and me and the band are gonna talk it over, and we're gonna try and give "Dancin' Fool" its world premiere right here, at the Palladium.
(You guys [...]? Okay. You remember enough of it from the rehearsal to try and do it?)
Hey, cameraman, cover this. This is, this is the real shit, this is vérité, this is really happening. It may be terrible but let's get it on film. Awright. Let me hear the G, you got the chimes, right? . . . Duh! Alright. Don't forget your choreography. Here we go.
I don't know much about dancin'
That's why I got this song
One of my legs is shorter than the other
'N both of my feet's too long
'Course now right along with 'em
I got no natural rhythm
But I go dancin' every night
Hopin' one day I might get it right
I'm a dancin' fool
I'm a
Dancin' fool
I'm a
Dancin' fool
I'm a
Dancin' fool
I hear that beat; I jump outa my seat
But I can't compete, 'cause I'm a
Dancin' fool
Dancin' fool
The disco folks all dressed up
Like they's fit to kill
I walk on in
Just to give them all a thrill
When they see me comin' . . .
Well, I can't hear the chords. No, did that verse again. Couldn't hear the chords.
The disco folks all dressed up
Like they's fit to kill
I just . . . walk in
Give them all a thrill
When they see me comin'
They all steps aside
They has a fit while I commit
My social suicide, I'm a
Dancin' fool
I'm a
Dancin' fool
I'm a
Dancin' fool
I'm a
Dancin' fool
The beat goes on
But I'm so wrong
And the beat goes on
And I'm so wrong
And the beat goes on
And I'm so wrong
And the beat goes on
And I'm so . . .
But I'm a
Dancin' fool,
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool
Alright, that's one of 'em. Now we've got another one . . . hey . . . Okay. It'll— It'll be better when we get the arrangement tight.
Now this song is called "Jewish Princess." . . . Now th— Now this one, hey . . . Do you have any idea how much fun it is just to come up here and say, "Hey, you know, we're gonna mess this up, but what's the difference?" It's Halloween. Okay. I'm sure that in this audience here in some place there are people who go under the classification of Jewish Princess. And, I don't know how many songs have been written about the Jewish Princess phenomenon. Maybe none. But I figured I had to do one— What? . . . So what?
("Rich Bitch" by Iggy & The Stooges!)
And it's about Jewish Princess? Would you t— After you hear this song you make sure you tell me whether or not mine songs are any like Iggy's. Okay. What? . . . Oh, we won't do that one . . . Okay. Now, we worked— we worked on this one just this afternoon . . . Okay. How they go? You ready? Okay, hit it. One, two, three, four . . .
Roy, come on out to sing! Roy Estrada, ladies and gentlemen.
I want a nasty little Jewish Princess
With long phony nails and a hairdo that rinses
A horny little Jewish Princess
With a garlic aroma that could level Tacoma
Lonely inside
Well, she can swallow my pride
Need a hairy little Jewish Princess
With a brand new nose
Who knows where it goes
I want a steamy little Jewish Princess
With over-worked gums, who squeaks when she cums
I don't want no troll
I just want a Yemenite hole
Want a darling little Jewish Princess
Who don't know shit about cooking and is arrogant looking
A vicious little Jewish Princess
To specifically happen with a pee-pee that's snappin'
All up inside
I just want a Princess to ride
Awright, back to the top . . .
Everybody twist!
I want a funky little Jewish Princess
A grinder; a bumper, with a pre-moistened dumper
A brazen little Jewish Princess
With titanic tits
And sand-blasted zits
She can even be poor
So long as she does it with four on the floor
I want a dainty little Jewish Princess
With a couple of sisters who can raise a few blisters
A fragile little Jewish Princess
With Roumanian thighs, who weasels 'n lies
For two or three nights
Won't someone send me a princess who bites
Won't someone send me a princess who bites
Won't someone send me a princess who bites
Won't someone send me a princess who bites
And now we're gonna go into some other material that you'll recognize. And hope that nothing drastic happens . . .
Because the name of this song— Now, those of you who've uh, seen us in New York for a lot of years—and we have been playing here for a lot of years—probably would recognize the song as one of the numbers we used to do at the Garrick Theatre. The name of this song is "King Kong." One! One! One! One!
FZ: Trombone solo.
Phil Kaufman: What song is it?
FZ: "King Kong."
Phil Kaufman: Oh. Can I hear it?
FZ: You can hear it. Just play, make a trombone solo over it. I, I'll give you the cue.
Phil Kaufman: BURP. (Human trombone solo)
?: Work it out, man. Yeah. Come on, work it out, man. Yeah. Yeah! Thank you!
Phil Kaufman: Thank you!
FZ: Phil Kaufman, our road manager, the Human Trombone . . . Roy? Roy, get the gas mask . . .
Roy: Is this back again? Huh huh, huh! Is this again the . . . the same, uh . . . Ha ha ha . . . Why? Why did we ever, uh? When did we start?
FZ: Go, go on the organ with D minor like we did before. No, this organ here. D minor.
Roy: This is all, this is all we . . . We just wanted to, ah, he he heh. You know we just wanted, just to, uh, make everybody . . . ha ha ha ha. But then all those stupid son-of-a-bitches up in the fucking son-of-a-bitches. Those bastards . . . their fucking buildings. Them and their stupid big [mono dicks]. You know they just want to, uh, a-ha ha. They made this son-of-a . . . [...beautiful] . . . I don't want to. I don't want to. We just want . . . we wanna be, we wanna be! You have to do this. Ah ah ah ah a ha ha. Oh oh oh. I never thought that you were so cool. Thank you, man. Thank you, man. Oh more, more, oh, oh, oh, oh oh, oh, in, back, out, oh, in. Wha—
FZ: Return to Managua.
Roy: Sha— mi— ma— di— ma— ni— na. Your eyes were so full of it. Your eyes were just the cause of it. Aaahh. Aaahhh. A-ha ha. This is. A-ha ha. This is. A-ha ha. This is. A-ha ha.
"GIVE YOURSELF UP
YOU ARE COMPLETELY
SURROUNDED BY
POLICEMEN
IF YOU PULL DOWN YOUR GUNS
AND COME OUT
WITH YOUR HANDS UP
WE GUARANTEE
YOU WON'T BE HARMED"
"BANK ROBBERY
REPORTED AT THE NATIONAL BANK
PROCEED THERE IMMEDIATELY . . .
BANK ROBBERY
REPORTED AT THE NATIONAL BANK
PROCEED THERE IMMEDIATELY . . .
GIVE YOURSELF UP
YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED BY
BANK ROBBERY REPORTED
GIVE YOURSELF UP
BANK ROBBERY REP . . .
BANK ROBBERY REP . . .
BANK ROBBERY REP . . .
BANK ROBBERY REP . . .
BANK ROBBERY
GIVE YOURSELF UP
GIVE YOURSELF UP
GIVE YOURSELF UP
GIVE YOURSELF UP
GIVE YOURSELF UP
GIVE YOURSELF UP
BANK ROBBERY
BANK ROBBERY
BANK ROBBERY
GIVE YOURSELF UP
BANK ROBBERY
GIVE YOURSELF UP
GIVE YOURSELF UP
YOU ARE COMPLETELY
SURROUNDED BY POLICEMEN
IF YOU PULL DOWN YOUR GUNS
AND COME OUT
WITH YOUR HANDS UP
WE GUARANTEE
YOU WON'T BE HARMED"
Disco Boy
Run to the toilet, honey,
Comb your hair
Disco Boy
Pucker yer lips,
'N check yer shoulders,
'Cause some dandruff might be
Hidin' there!
Disco Boy,
You're the DISCO KING!
Aw, the Disco-Thing
Made you think
Someday,
That you
Just might GO SOMEWHERE!
Disco Girl!
You're 'out-a-site'!
You need a Disco Boy
To treat you right
He'll do a little dance;
Take you home tonight
(Leave his hair alone,
But you can kiss his comb)
Disco Boy!
Run to the toilet honey,
Comb your hair
Guy In The Audience: THEY STOLE MY POODLE FROM LAST . . .
Disco Boy!
. . . more than three times 'n yer playin' with it
(WOW!)
While yer standin' there!
Listen . . .
Disco Boy!
Do the Bump every night, 'til the Disco Girl
Who's REALLY RIGHT
Gonna fall for yer line,
'N feed you a box fulla
Chicken Delight!
(That's right!
And then when she feeds it to you,
You have to eat it!)
Disco chit-chat; so demure!
Pump that booty all across the floor!
A disco drink
A disco wink
"You never go doody!"
(That's what you think)
"You never go doody!"
(That's what you think)
"You never go doody!"
(That's what you think)
Doody
You never go doody
Doody
You never go doody
Disco Boy!
You got one more chance
To comb your hair again
Disco Boy!
They're closin' the bar,
And she's leavin' with your friend!
(That's right!)
Disco Boy,
That's the way it goes,
So wipe your nose,
'N try it again,
To get a little pussy tomorrow!
Disco Boy,
No one understands,
But thank THE LORD
That you still got hands
To help you do that jerkin' that'll
Blot out yer Disco Sorrow!
(Jerk it!)
It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
(You look all right, you really do!)
The name of this song is "Envelopes." One, two, three . . .
You are, are my desire
You come to me
In dreams through a garden wall
It is covered with a lot of dew
And I suppose you're covered too
Just slightly wet
Better yet
You're a stew
You are, are my balloon
You come to me
In dreams through a blue pontoon
It is covered with a lot of dew
And I suppose you're covered too
Just slightly wet
Better yet
Let's go screw
I'm screwing you
I'm screwing you
I'm screwing you
I'm screwing you
Oh boy, I'm doin' it!
I'm really neat
I'm really neat
You're very sweet
You're really sweet
In and out
In and out
In and out
In and out
It's divine
You are mine
You're so fine
Squat on my blaster
Make it go faster
Squat on my blaster
(Would you fling?)
Make it go faster
FZ: Ladies and gentlemen, a special treat tonight. It's Halloween treat time. From far off Austria, Peter Wolf and Thomas Nordegg. Come on out here . . . Now there's a problem with this part of our show, ladies and gentlemen, because what they do is, well—It's uh, it's little. You have to watch very closely. Eventually we are going to require somebody from the audience to come up and help with this. Thomas . . . This is Thomas. Get— Get in the light, Thomas. Very good. And this is Peter. Get in the light, Peter. Okay. Now, Thomas does things with his hands and Peter tells you about it in German. So, take it away, Peter and Thomas . . .
Peter: Maine Herren und Damen [...]. You have great strange Nordegg, live on stage in New York City. [...]
FZ: ([...]?)
Peter: Oh, fantastic.
Thomas: (Regular size dick.)
Peter: Regular size dick. Cuts it. And tries to make it smaller. Here it is, a little smaller. And even smaller. [...kleine]. No matter how you say it. Pocket size dick, right here. Yeah. [...] Thomas Nordegg. Take the print off. [...] Und yet, the print is completely off. And here it is again! Oh, wow. [...] magic.
FZ: Alright. It's just like magic, ladies and gentlemen. Now, listen, you'll have to watch very closely. I think that uh— Hey, look at what he's doing there. I bet you could really be a good pickpocket. Hey! Hey hey, look at what he's doing, alright. Now. I have— I have a feeling that what you've d— I'm supposed to pick a card? I'm picking a card, okay? You're not looking, I'm picking the card. Do I show it to the camera? Do I show it to the audience? Okay. What is that? You see what it is?
Audience Member: [...]!
FZ: Okay. Don't tell him! Now, get— Come, come 'ere. Somebody already said what it was. I'm gonna pick it. You look at it. Don't say what it is. Alright? Here we go. Ooops! Sorry. I'm, I'm new at this. Okay. Okay.
Thomas: Not on top.
FZ: Not on top. Not on bottom.
Thomas: Take the top card.
FZ: Take the top card and rub it on your shirt. Hey! How you do that? Are you magic?
Thomas: Another one time.
FZ:
One more time. You— You're trying to fool me. Uh! Do the one with the balls! Oh . . . What? It flew away? You understand that gravity is slightly different in Austria. Alright, now, here we have a ball . . . One ball. You see the ball. Okay. Hey, now you have two balls, alright? . . . Only one ball. Okay. The balls are easier to see. Actually I think that— Roy? Roy, would you come here, please? I think— In order to make this really work I think Roy should tell you what's happening. Come 'ere . . .
Roy: (Yes?)
FZ: (Just explain to the audience what he's doing.)
Roy: (Alrighty.) Well, you see guys uh, he's rolling the ball, man, you know? That's a silver ball. And, that's a [...], and it— What, what are you gonna do?
Thomas: You know what I'll do?
Roy: You got two balls now, oh yeah, okay. Oh, you got a lighter, eh? Okay . . . they . . . yeah . . .
FZ: I think you should sing.
Roy: Alrighty, ha ha . . .
He has a lighter
In his hands
And he has the whole world
He thinks he does
By the fingers
His fingers were the one
What else can you do
Can you play with the ball
And the cards too
Alrighty later
He's fl—flipping the cards
It's like Vegas
I day—Oooh!
That's swift, man
I love that [...] of cards
Can I see that?
Love you [...]
Love you
Ah! Ah-hah! Hah hah hah
And then I knew before
That [...] the one
Thomas: This, all blank.
Roy: Yeah. All blank.
Thomas: All sizes.
Roy: All sizes.
Thomas: All sizes.
Roy: Big one.
Thomas: Send it over.
Roy: Little ones.
Thomas: You want a regular—
Roy:
Yes I do
Yes I do
Cards for you
Cards for me
Oh . . .
FZ: Alright, I think that's enough card tricks. Throw the cards into the camera so it looks really good. You're ready? There it is, almost like Halloween. Now, if we can just pick up all these cards of the front part of the stage, let us resume our normal program, ladies and gentlemen . . .
The name of this song is "Läther." Formerly entitled "I Promise Not To Come In Your Mouth." (Ready?) One, two, three . . .
Many well-dressed people
In several locations
Are kissing quite a bit
(Yea-ah!)
Later in the evening
Leaves will fall
Tears will flow
Wind will blow
Some rain; some snow
A fireplace maybe
A kiss or two
And down they'll go
But that's the way it goes sometimes
You just might find yerself in the clutches of some
Wild Love
Mama stroked his dinger
Daddy got a stinky finger
In those days of long ago
(Yeah-ah!)
Later in the evening
She'd complain
They'd refrain
He'd go home 'n hone his bone
A tragic case maybe
But also true
I'm sure you know
But that's the way it goes sometimes
You just might find yourself in the clutches of some
Wild Love
Now'days you get dressed up
'N later you get messed up
But still you're pretty hip
(Yeah-ah!)
Later in the evening
You'll explain
She'll remain
You're real modern
She's the same
A frantic pace maybe
But who's to say
Where it will go
It was the blackest night
There was no moon in sight
You know the stars ain't shinin'
'Cause the sky's too tight
Heard the scarey wind
I seen some ugly trees
There was a werewolf honkin'
'Long the side of me
I'm mean 'n I'm bad, y'know I ain't no sissy
Got a big-titty girly by the name of Chrissy
Talkin' about her 'n my bike 'n me . . .
'N this ride up the Mountain of Mystery, mystery
I can't come over there because it'll feedback if I stand in front of that.
I noticed even the crickets
Actin' weird up here
'N so I figured I might
Just drink a little beer
I said, "Gimme summa that what yer suckin' on . . . "
But there was no reply
'Cause she had gone . . .
"Where's those titties I like so well, 'n my goddamn beer!"
Is what I started to yell, then I heard this noise
Like a crunchin' twig, 'n up jumped the Devil . . .
He's about this big . . .
He had a red suit on
An' a widow's peak
An' then a pointed tail
'N like a sulphur reek
Yes, it was him awright,
I sweared I knowed it was
He had some human flesh
Stuck underneath his claws
You know, it looked to me
Like it was titty skin
I said, "You sonofabitch!"
'Cause I was mad at him,
Well he just got out his floss
'N started cleanin' his fang
So I shot him with my shooter,
Said: BANG BANG BANG
Then the sucker just laughed 'n said:
Terry:
Put it away . . .
You know, I ate her all up . . . now what you gonna say?
FZ:
You ate my Chrissy?
Terry:
Yeah! Titties 'n all!
FZ:
Well, what about the beer then?
Terry:
Now were the cans this tall?
FZ:
Even her boots?
Terry:
Would I lie to you?
FZ:
Shit, you musta been hungry!
Terry:
Yeah! This is true.
FZ:
Don't they pay you good
For the stuff that you do?
Terry:
Well, you know
I can't complain when the checks come through . . .
FZ:
Well I want my Chrissy.
Terry:
Oh, yeah?
FZ:
'N I want my beer.
Terry:
Hah hah!
FZ:
So you just barf it back up
Now, Devil, do you hear?
Terry:
Listen, blow it out your ass, motorcycle man!
I mean, I am the Devil,
Do you understand?
FZ:
Oh . . .
Terry:
Just what will you give me for your
Titties and beer?
I suppose you noticed this little contract here . . .
FZ:
Yer goddam right, you
Son-of-a-whore
Terry:
Don't call me that!
FZ:
That's about the only reason I learned writin' for . . .
Gimme that paper . . . bet yer horns I'll sign . . .
Because I need a beer,
'N it's titty-squeezin' time!
Terry:
Man, you can't fool me . . . you ain't that bad . . .
What, you shoulda seen some of the souls that I've had . . .
FZ:
Oh, yeah?
Terry:
There was Milhous Nixon 'n Agnew, too . . .
'N both of those suckers was worse 'n you . . .
FZ:
Let's make a deal if you think that's true
I mean, you're supposed to be the Devil so . . .
Whatcha gonna do?
Terry: Now just hold on a second. You say you want to make a deal with me?
FZ: Yeah.
Terry: Well, man, a cloud of doom kinda covers my mind when you say that you want to make a deal with me. I mean, you know, most people don't want to make a deal with me, you know. They might be kind of afraid of the consequences, you know?
FZ: Yeah, we see, I'm not your average customer.
Terry: Oh, yeah? Well, what are you all about, man?
FZ: Hey, listen, I'm a regular guy. The same as most of the people in this audience here, you know. Just you know, I mean, me and him, this guy over here with the hat, I mean, he can be my brother. You know?
Terry: Oh, yeah.
FZ: Heh heh heh . . .
Terry: Listen, man . . .
FZ: Now look. I tell ya. The reason why I say I'm the same as these people is because I believe we have the same philosophy.
Terry: Oh, yesh?
FZ: That's right. We wou—
Terry: What is that, man?
FZ: I don't think that anybody in this audience would mind going to Hell—since it doesn't exist—would mind going to Hell if they can make a deal with you to achieve, to achieve—spit it out, boy—to achieve the objective nearest and dearest to their hearts.
Terry: Oh, yeah?
FZ: That's right.
Terry: Wha— What is that objective, man?
FZ: Hey, what I'm trying to say to you, boy, is I'll make the deal with you. I'm happy to make the deal.
You can have my soul
It's a mean little sucker
'Bout a thousand years old
Once you get it
You can't give it back
You gotta keep it forever
And that's a natural fact
FZ: All you gotta do, you just help me take care of a little business. All right?
Terry: Well, I, I don't know, man.
FZ: Come on, just say, "Yes."
Terry: Okay. Yes!
FZ: Alright. Because you're the devil and I know you've got a lot of connections in Washington.
Terry: Yeah. Plenty.
FZ: Here's what I want you to do: I want you to arrange an anti-trust investigation.
Terry: An anti-trust investigation.
FZ: Sure! Should be a simple thing for you. Here's what you do, you have to investigate the fact that Warner Brothers Records and Capitol Records have the same law firm. The law firm is called Gang, Tyre & Brown.
Terry: Yeah.
FZ: Now there's only a couple of law firms in Hollywood that handle things relating to the music business, you see.
Terry: Uh-huh.
FZ: And they've got it all tied up. And what happens is, when a new artist comes to a record company, and they don't have a manager and they don't have a lawyer, the record company in many instances sends the unsuspecting young artist to the law firm that also happens to represent the record company, thereby causing a conflict of interest and sticking it right up the poop chute of the person who's making the music.
Terry: Oh, yeah!
FZ: You see?
Terry: Yeah!
FZ: So I thought that maybe because you were the devil and you were on such good terms with all those other assholes in Washington, that you could just put in a word, you know, and recommend that somebody investigate the anti-trust implications of major record companies all having the same law firm and law firms only get the job because they have connections elsewhere. So I think what you ought to do is take those law firms with the connections elsewhere away from the record companies and give the people who want to make a record contract a chance to do something fair and square. And after you do that, I want titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry: No. What?
FZ: . . . titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry: No, wait, hold it, no, no . . .
FZ:
. . .
titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry: . . . no, please, aargh . . .
FZ: . . . titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry: . . . blow away, groargh . . .
FZ: . . . titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry:
No! Don't sign it! Give me time to think . . .
Hold on a second, boy . . .
'Cause that's Magic Ink!
And then the Devil barfed
'N out jumped m'girl
They heard the titties PLOP-PLOPPIN'
All around the world, she said:
"I GOT THREE BEERS 'N A FIST FULLA DOWNS"
(Nice legs!)
"AN' I'M GONNA GET RIPPED, SO FUCK YOU CLOWNS!"
Then she gave us the finger,
It was rigid 'n stiff,
That's when the Devil, he farted
An' she went right over the cliff
The Devil was mad
I took off to my pad
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
Swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
Swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
Swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
Alright . . .
FZ: How many of you people actually know what that means? Do you? You don't? Just curious. Just a li— Just a little sociological research, ladies and gentlemen. D'you know what this really means? D'you know what that is? . . . Do you know? That's a real thing. For those of you— Hey, listen to this, handy helpful hands. Suppose you're a regular person in the street and one guy—one day a guy, probably of Italian extraction, puts the evil eye on you. This is the classic antidote for the evil eye. This right here. So if they ever give you the business, you give 'em that and it takes it all away. Listen, this is just like going to college. And now, it's audience participation time! . . . Now some of you—in fact a lot of you have probably been here to the other shows that we've already done—I think we've— What have we done? Four already? This is number five . . . Alright, I'm glad you do, I need all the friends I can get. Now wha— what we need tonight for our dance contest—last night we experimented with people who had no natural rhythm. Now, we're gonna mix and match tonight, we need a couple of people who are definitely uncoordinated. Are you uncoordinated? You're not? You are? Well, what are ya? Are you coordinated or uncoordinated? Oh, whatever? No, I want a real, genuine— Okay, I'll take a chance on you. You, come up. Okay. Now, it's— Look, just look deep into your heart, say, ask yourself this question, "Can I dance or am I a chump?" Are you a chump? You can dance? Alright, wait a minute, look, let's— let's take it, let's take it chumps first. How many people will openly admit in front of the world at large, including our movie cameras, that you are a chump? . . . There's one! Hey! I can spot him [...], come 'ere. We're gonna— We're gonna go—Last night we went three and three, tonight we're gonna— How're you doin', man? What's your name?
Pauley: Pauley.
FZ: Hi, Pauley. Pleased to meet you.
Pauley: You get the letter I gave you?
FZ: No, I didn't know from my mail, sorry.
Pauley: I wrote this man.
FZ: Give me the letter.
Pauley: Alright.
FZ: I'll see it when I get up in the dressing room. Okay, Pauley. What's your name?
Chris #1: Chris.
FZ: Thank you, Chris. I'm glad you're up here. Alright, now, what we need is three more guys. Or . . . No, actually we mean four more guys. We're gonna get one more chump and then three other ones who can dance their ass off. Are you a chump? Okey, come on . . . Wait a minute. Hey, wait, wait. Sorry, sorry, I s— Ah, how can I turn him down. Here is a chump. Come on! . . . Come on up here. Wait a minute, guys first. What's your name?
Al: Al.
FZ: Al? Pleased to meet you. Alright. Are you trying to tell me you can dance?
?: Yes, we can.
FZ: Okay. Fantastic. I want you to get over here with these three guys, because while they got that beat going on I want you to practice. I want you just to warm up a little bit right over here, you know? It's just— I'll give you some instructions. Just so you won't feel ill at ease. This is your left foot, this is your right foot. Okay? Just wiggle 'em on on the time, just get into the groove. We'll bring some other contestants up here to get it on with you. Now we need three more guys who are really cool. I mean, people who can— I mean, really good, I'm— Is he good? You're volunteering him? You. Come 'ere. You're supposed to be good. You'd better be good. She says you're good. What? . . . I don't know what he just said. Come on, hurry up. Hu-rry. Are you a good dancer? You're so so? Now we need experts now. Are you fantastic? Alright, what's your name?
Chris #2: Chris.
FZ: Chris? Pleased to meet you. You'd better be wonderful . . . Okay, now, you— You face him. Alright. Come on, I'll take a chance on you. What? Are you— Are you a good dancer? . . . You're one of the best? What's your name?
John: John, president of Brooklyn For Zappa.
FZ: Okay, thank you, John. Right over there. Into the waiting line. Alright, we need one more person who is a fantastic dancer. I think I— I think I have somebody backstage who can really join in on this. Can we get Roy Estrada to come up here? Because a lot of you don't know this, but Roy is a wonderful dancer. An expert in the [...]. Quickly, Roy. Over here. Now, now the ladies. Now you girls see what kind of guys we have up here. There ares some girls out in this audience that are totally uncoordinated and we have just the man for you. In fact we have three uncoordinated guys to match with three uncoordinated girls. What? Pointing to her on the end? What is she? She shies what she is, she doesn't really want to get up. She's too shy. But this girl over here willingly admits that she can't dance. You can't dance? Come on up. Okay . . . There— Believe me, there is space in this world for people who can't dance. What's your name?
[...]: [...].
FZ: Pleased to meet you, [...]. Okay. Choose your partner . . . You're welcome. Choose your partner. Okay. Hah hah. Now there's another girl who can't dance . . . You. Hey, buddy. Hey. Over there. Alright. One more girl who can't dance. I mean, I want a tragic case. You, you got the job, come on up here. What is it about you that uh, makes it difficult for you to dance? . . . What's your name?
Nanuka: Nanuka.
FZ: Nanuka! Oh, my God! Nanuka, right over here. Hah hah hah . . . Alright, now we're— Now we're getting somewhere. I need— Bring the band on down behind me, boys, uh . . . I need three girls who really can dance. You're one. You ask for it, you got it . . . You wanna dance? Are you good? Come on up . . . You wanna dance? Come on up. What's your name?
Grace: Grace.
FZ: How're you doin', Grace? I hope you can really dance. Okay . . . What? You wanna dance with Roy? Come on . . . What's your name?
[...]: [...].
FZ: Sue?
[...]: [...].
FZ: [...]?
[...]: [...].
FZ: Okay. [...], ladies and gents. Whoops! What's your name?
Manuela: Manny. Manny.
FZ: Manny?
Manuela: Manuela.
FZ: Manuela! Oh, my God! Manuela! Manuela! Ma-nu-ela! Okay. Have you all chosen your partners? Hey . . . Go ahead. Alright. Everybody are all teamed up now? . . . Now usually, usually during this part of the show . . . usually during this part of the show we play a song called "The Black Page #2," and this song has a steady 4/4 beat, but the melody to it is uh, broken up into little subdivisions that are complicated. So you know that you gotta clap your hands to keep the beat for the dummies over there who cannot move their feet. You know? Okay? . . . You know you may think I can't see you up there but I can tell you're not clapping your hands, so let's get on with it. And you guys too. Alright! Just remember one thing, rock & roll is totally preposterous, and I'm in you!
One, two, three, four . . . Everybody dance! . . . Come on, let's get a little action here . . .
My baby's got
Jones crushin' love
Jones crushin' love
Jones crushin' love
Well my baby's got
Jones crushin' love
Jones crushin' love
Jones crushin' love
She don't merely fit like a glove
That little girl's got the jones
That little girl's got the jones
She's tryin' to
Grind up my jones
Grind up my jones
Grind up my jones
Well, she's tryin' to
Grind up my jones
Grind up my jones
Grind up my jones
She don't never wanna leave it alone
She can push; she can shove
Till it's just a nub
She can push; she can shove
Till it's just a nub
Just a nub
Just a nub
Here she comes
With her red dress on
Steam shoots out
From the sprinklers on the lawn
The eyes be rollin'
On the concrete fawn
The wind can't blow
'Cause the sky is gone
The wind can't blow
'Cause the sky is gone
The wind can't blow
'Cause the sky is gone
The wind can't blow
'Cause the sky is gone
Jones crusher, jones crusher
Deadly jaws, better get the gauze
She's a jones crusher, jones crusher
Deadly jaws, better get the gauze
She's a . . . mmmh . . . ouch!
Hey, look out for them the deadly jaws, y'all!
Aw, can you tell it, baby, OOOUUUCH!
Oh, jones . . .
All right!
Hey! Do you know what you are?
You're an asshole! An ASSHOLE!
Some of you might not agree
'Cause you probably likes a lot of misery
But think a while and you will see . . .
Broken hearts are for assholes
Broken hearts are for assholes
Are you an asshole?
Broken hearts are for assholes
Are you an asshole too?
Whatcha gonna do, 'cause you're an asshole . . .
No no no, yeah yeah yeah
I said
You . . . are . . . an ASSHOLE!
Maybe you think you're a lonely guy
'N maybe you think you're too tough to cry
So you went to The Grape,
Just to give it a try
And Dagmar
(Without a doubt, the ugliest sonofabitch I've ever seen in my life)
Was his name . . .
(Bing is gone)
The whiskers sticking out from underneath of his Pancake make-up
Nearly drove you insane
(But that's not gonna stop us from [...] leather)
And so you kissed a little sailor
(Rubber, vinyl, [...])
Who had just blew in from Spain
(Nice balls, Felix)
Pulled the chain attached to the permanently-erected nipples of Jimmy
In a bold salute to pain
(Buddy Love is not a homo)
You sniffed the reeking buns of Angel
And acted like it was cocaine
(Charlelle)
You were dazzled by the exciting new costume of Ko-Ko
(Oh, oh well . . .)
In a way you can't explain
(Nice)
And so you worked the wall with Michael
(Working at the third spot)
Which gave your back an awful strain
([...])
But you came back on Sunday for the gong shows
(Something [...])
But you forgot what I was sayin'
'Cause you're an asshole, you're an asshole
That's right
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
That's right
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
Yes, yes
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
Well, now you been to The Chest, been to The Grape
Now I think you know what you are: you're an asshole
You say you can't live with what you've been through
Well, ladies you can be an asshole too
You might pretend you ain't got one on the bottom of you
But don't fool yerself girl
It's lookin' at you
Don't fool yerself girl
It's winkin' at you
Don't fool yerself girl
It's blinkin' at you
That's why I say
I'm gonna ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
([...])
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Crisco)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Fist fuck)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Meow!)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
(Come 'ere!)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
Don't fool yerself, girl
(No, not you! That girl back there who wa— who wants it up the poop chute!)
(Ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
(Ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poooop chute
(Come on!)
(Ay ay ay ay ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer . . .
Ooh, I knew she'd be surprised . . .
FZ: In today's rapidly changing world rock groups appear every fourteen or fifteen minutes, utilizing some new promotional device. Some of these devices have been known to leave irreparable scars on the minds of foolish young consumers. One such case is seated before you: Little skinny Terry 'Ted' Bozzio, that cute little drummer. Terry recently fell in love with a publicity photo of a boy named Punky Meadows, lead guitar player from a group called Angel—Oh-huh, you almost have an Angel costume on, that's . . .
Patrick: Yeah!
FZ: What is your name?
Alison: Alison.
FZ: Alison. So delightful to meet you. Could you please make yourself comfortable right here on the size of the stage? Because it's gonna get very loud in a moment . . . On that— Oh, Tex, you tell her. Alison, I'd like to introduce you to Tex. Tex, come 'ere. Tex, come on. Come on, Tex.
?: [...]
Patrick: Nice.
FZ: You're li— You're like a rugged he-man sort of a guy from Texas. Alison, this is Tex. I now pronounce you. Okay. Terry recently felt in love with a publicity photo, as I've said before, of a boy named Punky Meadows . . .
Terry: Oh, Punky!
FZ: . . . guitar player from a group called Angel. In this photograph, Punky was seen with a beautiful shiny hairdo in a semi-profile which emphasized the pooched out succulence of his insolent pouting rictus—you know what a rictus is? This is the rictus. That's the rictus—the sight of which drove the helpless young drummer mad with desire!
I can't stand the way he pouts
'Cause he might not be pouting for me!
Patrick: Pouting for you? Punky Meadows?
Terry: What do you mean?
Patrick: Pouting for you? Hah hah hah hah!
Terry: All this time you haven't been pouting for me?
His hair's so shiny and it's done real nice
'Til I squirm with ecstasy
Punky, Punky, give me your lips
To die on . . .
Oh, Punky, isn't it romantic?
Punky, Punky, give me your lips
To die on . . .
I promise not to come in your mouth
Punky, Punky, your album's the shits
It's all wrong . . .
I ain't really queer
But if he ever got near
Steven Tyler would PAY to see!
PAY to see!
Punky's lips, Punky's lips
His hair's so shiny,
I love his hips
I love his teeth, 'n his gums 'n such . . .
PUNKY
(Yeah, what is it, uh?)
You're an ANGEL . . .
You're too much
(Nice . . .)
(The voice of my thoughts
In my lonely teen-age room)
He's been havin' a rash
(No shit)
That keeps the girls away
Skin doom
(Skin doom!)
Is what the doctors say
(Yeah, and that makes me wonder)
I wonder if Punky is rehearsin' today
I'll just go over 'n hear him play
His hair is so pretty . . . I'd like to bite his neck
I've heard a rumor he's more fluid than Jeff Beck
But . . .
I AIN'T QUEER
I AIN'T GAY
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array
A wrist array)
That's all it is, I swear!
Punky's lips, Punky's lips
Oh! I love his hair while eatin' dunk-y chips
Yeah! I love his blink and his blank-blank-blank
Why, maybe he'd like to yank my crank?
YANK IT PUNKY!
YANK IT FASTER!
YANK IT HARDER!
YANK IT ALL NIGHT LONG!
COME ON PUNKY!
GET FUNKY!
I AIN'T QUEER
(No no no no!)
I AIN'T GAY
(No no no no!)
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array
A wrist array)
(And then he told me now:)
I AIN'T QUEER!
(Hey!)
I AIN'T GAY!
(Hey! Hey!)
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array)
I-I, Lord,
I'm fo-o-o-ond of chiffo-on
In a wrist array-ee-ay
Oh oh oh oh!
I-I, Lord, I swear, I'm fo-o-ond of chiffo-on
In a wri-i-i-i-ist array
Come on, Punky!
Give me your lips!
Right on my penis-tip!
Patrick O'Hearn, Adrian Belew, Tommy Mars, Terry Bozzio, Peter Wolf, Ed Mann, somewhere back there, Roy Estrada. Alright. As you know, ladies and gentlemen—Bring the band on down behind me, boys—Hey, I know you guys are really a sophisticated audience—you don't believe for a minute that this is the end of the show, but, what we're gonna do is stop for just a minute so we can get a drink and stuff, and we'll be right back with what they call The Encore Part of the program.
(No no no no!)
That's right! "Dinah-Moe Humm" . . . Let me— Let me give you some details about the song "Dinah-Moe Humm." First of all, it is—out of all the songs we ever recorded—we get more requests for that one than anything else, I don't know why, but that's the one that everybody comes to concerts for. What do you about this? Anyway, it's our pleasure to do it for you. Just like rock 'n roll!
One, two, three, four . . .
I couldn't say where she's coming' from,
But I just met a lady named Dinah-Moe Humm
She stroll on over, say look here, bum,
I got a forty-dollar bill says you can't make me cum
(No way! Y'jes can't do it)
She made a bet with her sister who's a little bit dumb
She could prove it any time all men was scum
(Thank you!)
I don't mind that she called me a bum,
But I knew right away she was really gonna cum
(So I got down to it)
Whipped off her bloomers 'n stiffened my thumb
An' applied rotation to her sugar plum
I poked 'n stroked till my wrist got numb
But I still didn't hear no Dinah-Moe Humm,
No Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Where's this Dinah-Moe
Comin' from
I done spent three hours
An' I ain't got a crumb
From the Dinah-Moe, Dinah-Moe, Dinah-Moe
From the Dinah-Moe Humm
Got a spot that gets me hot
An' you ain't been to it
Got a spot that gets me hot
An' you ain't been to it
Got a spot that gets me hot
You ain't been to it
Got a spot that gets me hot
You ain't been to it
'Cause I can't get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta be out of it
To get myself into it
An' I can't get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta be out of it
To get myself into it
(She looked over at me with a glazed eye
And some bovine perspiration on her upper lip area
And she said . . . )
Just get me wasted
An' you're half-way there
'Cause if my mind's tore up,
Well, then my body don't care
I rubbed my chinny-chin-chin
An' said my-my-my
What sort of thing
Might this lady get high upon?
The forty-dollar bill didn't matter no more
When her sister got nekkid an' laid on the floor
She said Dinah-Moe might win the bet
But she could use a little ______ if I wasn't done yet
I told her . . .
Just because the sun
Want a place in the sky
No reason to assume
I wouldn't give her a try
So I pulled on her hair
Got her legs in the air
An' asked if she had any cooties in there
(Whaddya mean cooties! No cooties on me!)
She was buns-up kneelin'
(BUNS UP!)
I was wheelin' an dealin'
(WHEELIN' AN' DEALIN' AN' OOOOH!)
She surrender to the feelin'
(SHE SWEETLY SURRENDERED)
She started in to squealin'
Dinah-Moe watched from the edge of the bed
With her lips just a-twitchin' an' her face gone red
Some drool rollin' down
From the edge of her chin
While she spied the condition
Her sister was in
She quivered 'n quaked
An' clutched at herself
Her sister made a joke
About her mental health
Until Dinah-Moe finally
Did give in
But I told her
All she really needed
Was some discipline
That's when I said
. . .
Kiss my aura . . . Dora . . .
That's right! I said that to her
You know why? Because it was real angora
And then I said,
Would y'all like some more-a?
Right here on the flora?
An' how 'bout you . . .
You're the guy—Every Halloween, the same guy. The same makeup. Always there in the front. Everytime at the Felt Forum—I gave you the godamn poodle last year . . . I can't hear ya. I talk to you in a— What? He sold it? That's good, you're an American. He sold it. Very good . . . Somebody stole it? Well, they weren't American. Very good. Probably work for Warner Bros. Alright, let's do it all over again, this time with handclaps. One, two, three, four . . .
It's really tough making these movies, you know?
I couldn't say where she's coming' from,
But I just met a lady named Dinah-Moe Humm
She stroll on over, say look here, bum,
I got a forty-dollar bill says you can't make me cum
(Y'jes can't do it)
She made a bet with her sister who's a little bit dumb
She could prove it any time all men was scum
I don't mind that she called me a bum,
But I knew right away she was really gonna cum
(So I got down to it)
Whipped off her bloomers 'n stiffened my thumb
An' applied rotation to her sugar plum
I poked 'n stroked till my wrist got numb
An' you know I heard some Dinah-Moe Humm
Some Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe . . .
Hey, wait a minute, wait, wait a minute, wait a minute, I'm— I'm a— Wait just a minute, hey, listen, I see what's going on here. You people are from California. That's right. No, look, I— look, I— Listen, this is supposed to be the end of the show, where it's rock 'n roll and you guys jump up and down. I look out there and i see a bunch of people that look like those laid back studio people they have in California, you know? Really . . . No, no, no, no. Listen, no, let's be realistic about this. Let's no— Hey, really, I mean . . . (Thank you!) You're welcome. Don't— Don't exert yourself. There's no reason— See, rock is preposterous, that is my theory. Rock is preposterous. There is no reason why every concert has to end with the people sitting in the chairs going crazy. That is not logical. That's, you know, that doesn't belong. That's not part of the American way of life. I prefer a more direct approach. Let's take it the way it comes, you know what I mean? We just played "Dinah-Moe Humm," alright, we can play another song. We're not going away. We're gonna stay here. You don't have to clap. Just sit there. We're gonna play.
One, two, three, four!
She had that
Camarillo brillo
Flamin' out along her head,
I mean her Mendocino bean-o
By where some bugs had made it red
She ruled the Toads of the Short Forest
And every newt in Idaho
And every cricket who had chorused
By the bush in Buffalo
She said she was
A Magic Mama
And she could throw a mean Tarot
And carried on without a comma
That she was someone I should know
She had a snake for a pet
And an amulet
And she was breeding a dwarf
But she wasn't done yet
She had gray-green skin
A doll with a pin
I told her she was awright
But I couldn't come in
And so she wandered
Through the door-way
Just like a shadow from the tomb
She said her stereo was four-way
An' I'd just love it in her room
Well, I was born
To have adventure
So I just followed up the steps
Right past her fuming incense stencher
To where she hung her castanets
She stripped away
Her rancid poncho
An' laid out naked by the door
We did it till we were un-concho
An' it was useless any more
She had a snake for a pet
And an amulet
And she was breeding a dwarf
But she wasn't done yet
She had gray-green skin
A doll with a pin
I told her she was awright
But I couldn't come in
(Actually, I was very busy then)
And so she wandered
Through the door-way
Just like a shadow from the tomb
She said her stereo was four-way
An' I'd just love it up in her room
Well, I was born
To have adventure
(That's right!)
So I just followed up the steps
Right past her fuming incense stencher
To where she hung her castanets
I chewed my way through her rancid panocha
(That's right!)
She laid buck nekkid
By the door
We did it till we were un-concho
(Here's your hat back)
An' it was useless any more
Yes, it was useless any more
Yes, it was useless any more
That's why we went into another song . . .
Girl, you thought he was a man
But he was a muffin
He hung around till you found
That he didn't know nuthin'
Girl, you thought he was a man
But he only was a-puffin'
No cries is heard in the night
As a result of him stuffin'
(Alright!)
Patrick O'Hearn, Adrian Belew, Tommy Mars, Terry Bozzio, Peter Wolf and Ed Mann. And we're gonna actually play one more song.
The name of this song is "San Bernardino."
She lives in Mojave in a Winnebago
His name is Bobby, he looks like a potato
She's in love with a boy
From the rodeo
Who pulls the rope on the chute
When they let those suckers go
He got slobberin' drunk at the Palomino
They give him thirty days in San Ber'dino
Well there's forty-four men
Stashed away in Tank "C"
An' there's only one shower
But it don't apply to Bobby
You may think they're
Dumb an' lonely
But you're wrong
'Cause their love is strong
Stacked-up hair
An' a cheap little ring
They don't care
'Cause it don't mean a thing
Looka there . . .
They don't care
Best-est way that
They can feel-o
Out on the highway
Rollin' a wheel-o
She's her Tootsie
He's for real-o
Trailer park heaven
It's a real good deal-o
Real good deal-o
Real good deal-o
Real good deal-o
Real good deal-o
Gonna spend the rest of their lives
In San Ber'dino
The rest of their lives
Down in San Ber'dino
Gonna spend the rest of their lives
Down in San Ber'dino
Come on with me
Come on with me
Come on with me
Down in San Ber'dino
Just 60 miles, 60 miles
Down the San Ber'dino freeway, yeah
They got some dark green air
An' you can choke all day
Gonna spend the rest of their lives
The rest of their lives
The rest of their lives
Down in San Ber'dino
Hey! Ain't talkin' 'bout Fontana
Ain't talkin' 'bout uh uh
Ain't talkin' 'bout uh uh
Ain't talkin' 'bout uh ah!
Ain't talkin' 'bout the Redlands, no no
ZULCH is the auto works
I'm tellin' you
That's where they take
All the cars that they hurt
Come on and let's all go down to San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
Brrrr . . .
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
The rest of their lives down in
San Ber'dino
Oh Bobby, I'm sorry you gotta head like a potato. Thanks for coming to the show! Good night!
All compositions by Frank Zappa except as noted