Hammersmith Odeon

FZ:

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to show #4 de la London, England. Now I'm gonna warn you right now we're recording this. And for your own good, you'd better make a lot of noise tonight, because this thing is going on the radio in the United States. And I don't want those people in my country to find out how lame you suckers really are, you know what I'm talking about?

Now we've been playing here for three days and I have never seen such a boring audience in my life. You people must be walking in your sleep. I know that you're different though. This is a completely different breed of audience tonight. You people are really out for it, you know what I mean? I can tell, it's your vibes and your groovy aura that gives me this clue.

And so, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen—and remember, you have to make a lot of noise—I'm going to introduce you to the members of our rocking teen-age combo right now. This is Patrick O'Hearn on bass.

Louder!

Very good.

Tommy Mars on keyboards.

Adrian Belew on guitar.

Li'l Skinny Terry Ted Bozzio on drums.

Peter Wolf on keyboards.

Ed Mann on percussion.

Alright, alright. Don't want— Don't want you to get too worked up, save a little bit for the end of the show, you know what I mean?

Member of the audience:

Alright!

FZ:

Alright? Is that really alright or are you just saying that? Okay, it is alright. It'd better be, goddamnit.

One, two, three, four!

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
I'm a
Dancin' fool

The disco folks all dressed up
Like they's fit to kill
Walk on in 'n see 'em there
Gonna give 'em 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
And I'm so wrong
The beat goes on
And I'm so wrong
The beat goes on
And I'm so wrong
The beat goes on 'n I'm so wrong
The beat goes on 'n I'm so wrong
The beat goes on 'n I'm so wrong
The beat goes on 'n I'm so wrong
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool,
I may be totally wrong, but I'm a
Dancin' fool

I got it all together now
With my very own disco clothes
My shirt's half open, t'show you my chain
'N the spoon for up my nose
I am really somethin', yeah
That's what you'd probably say
So smoke your little smoke
And drink your little drink
While I dance the night away, I'm a
Dancin' fool, I'm a
Dancin' fool, I'm a
Dancin' fool, I'm a
Dancin' fool

I may be totally wrong but I'm a
I may be totally wrong but I'm a
I may be totally wrong but I'm a
I may be totally wrong but I'm a
FOOL-uh!

Say darlin' . . . can I buy you a drink?
(Ki-ni-shinai!)
What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?
(Ki-ni-shinai!)
Do you come here often?
(Ki-ni-shinai!)
Your place or mine?

 

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
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
A sinister midget with a bucket an' a mop
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

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
That's right
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
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops

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?
Well it's 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
Yeah, if Simmons was here
I could feature my hurt
I'm scared of the future
'N I hope I don't grow
Look, I know, I know 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
Will 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
(I)
I wanna be dead
(Want to be)
In bed
(Dead)
Please kill me
(Instead)
'Cause that would thrill me
(I)
I wanna be dead
(Want to be)
In bed
(Dead)
Please kill me
(In bed)
'Cause that would thrill me
(Kill me)
I wanna be dead
(Thrill me)
In bed
(Fill me)
Please kill me
(With some love)
'Cause that would thrill me
(Kill me)
I wanna be dead
(Kill me)
In bed
(Thrill me, fill me)
Please kill me
(Kill me, thrill 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)
'Cause that would thrill me
I wanna be dead
(Too small for my shirt)
In bed
(Feature my hurt)
Please kill me
(Hey, hey, hey!)
'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
Hey, 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 again
That the peoples eats
That the peoples eats
That the peoples eats
That the peoples eats
(Patrick: Longitude and latitude.)

And it's over there
And it's over there
And it's over there
And it's over there

Baby Snakes
Late at night is when they come out
Baby Snakes
Sure you know what I'm talkin' about
Pink 'n wet
They make the best kinda pet
Baby
Baby
Snakes

I looked around
An' there's a couple right near me
Baby Snakes
Maybe I think they can probably hear me
Pink 'n wet
I'll take all I can get
Baby
Baby
Baby Sna-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-kes, Yeah

They live in a ho-ho-ho-ho-hole
(Tiny hole)
That is usually empty
(Usually empty; tiny too)
They live by a co-co-a-co-a-co-co-a-code
(Dit dit dit dit)
(Dit dit dit dit)
(Dit dit dit dit)
(Dit dit dit dit)
That is usually SMPTE
Which stands for
Suck My Pee-pee Towards The End
But maybe I think
That is what keeps them in sync
They're wet 'n they're pink
I think I'll give 'em a, give 'em a,
Give 'em a drink

Baby Sna-a-a-a-a-akesss

Hail Caesar!
I said, Hail Caesar!
372 pounds of Roman dynamite!

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
Demetrius, Floodwig, and Pakiswipe welcome you to the Pastel Lounge, here in beautiful Baghdad, the biggest little city on the [...] Tonight for your delight, governors, we've got a whole [...] Parisian dancers, a tribe of young boys just brought over the border. They're here to dance for you tonight. Coming up first, [...]

Have you got a permit to drive that thing, sailor?
They're here and they want to eat you.
[...]

FZ:

Alright. It's romance time, ladies and gentlemen. This is our special song that goes out to all the ladies in the audience because God knows how you've suffered. That's right. We understand these things. Oh, yes. We in the world of rock 'n roll with our infinite wisdom . . .

All right, looke here. There was a record released not too long ago— Oh, shut up. Please, shut up. It sounds like some sort of a gas is coming out of your body—through your mouth.

A record was released not too long ago, bearing the title "I'm In You." Now, when I— It's coming out again. When I heard the title of this song I said, "Is he kidding? This is soft-core porn!"

So I thought about it for a while and I, just kind of, I let my mind drift away into those little zones where it goes, you know, when it drifts away. A lot of you crazy people in the audience know what I'm talking about. So I'm just sittin' there thinking about "I'm In You," hunh? That's preposterous.

So I imagined this story. Let's pretend you're a teen-age girl—and as I said last night and I'll say it again because I liked it, there's probably some of you little boys in the audience that wanna pretend that you're teen-age girls too and you can pretend also. And I also said last night and I will repeat it because it still stands true today, a lot of you older guys and especially the ones that work for the government, this song is for you too. You can all pretend you're a little teen-age girl.

Now let's say that you have a real honest to goodness teen-age bedroom. And this is not a fake teen-age girl bedroom, this is the real kind—it has a Jimi Hendrix poster on the wall, it has three flaming sticks of sandalwood incense, it has a small lamp with the red bulb in it—or maybe it's a white bulb with a red kind of bleeding madras over it, you know? Just something to give your room that vibe, you know?

Let's say that you, the teen-age girl of today, have abducted the succulent pop-star of your choice back to your teen-age room. Yes, it's the big time, you didn't go with him to the hotel, you made him come to your stinking little room. Poor son of a bitch must have been really hard up, you know?

So anyway you got him in there, and he takes his pop-star clothing off. First it's the satin shirt, with the tiny little burn holes in it from where the seeds fell on there. And then it's the satin pants, with the tiny little burn holes in it from where the seeds fell on there. Then of course it's the ever popular feather boa, which is cast aside over that little chair in the corner, you know, the one with the green thing on the seat.

Then, he removes three of the four safety pins embedded in his face. He always likes to keep one for good luck—in case there's somebody taking pictures for Melody Maker. He takes, he takes the one out of his eyebrow, the one from this cheek and the one from this ear. Leaves the one in his nose. Takes these three safety pins and puts them on the dresser next to the bed.

Naturally you're highly eroticized by all this and so you start removing your very own teen-age girl type clothing. The brassiere, which is always a struggle. It's a rough one, isn't it? You know, these cheap brassieres can sometimes become wedged. So you, you finally get that off. He couldn't really take your clothing off for you because, you know, a guy, a guy can only go so far for rock 'n roll—you take your own goddamn clothes off, you know what I mean?

So you're getting your little teen-age brassiere off there, and you got your little teen-age blouse off there, perhaps that little blanket that you wear for the protest marches, you know, throw that off to the side. Take off your cott— your white cotton underpants with the little brown skid mark in it, and stick them under the bed real fast before he knows what kind of underpants you wear, because there's no class to white cotton underpants. You know this is true.

And then you lay ba— Oh, wait a minute, I forgot the most important thing! You put on the Phoebe Snow album, and turn it real soft, you know. Then you lay back in your teen-age bed, you put your teen-age legs up in the air in the universal gesture of greeting. Oops! Going too fast. You have to take three of the four safety pins embedded in various parts of your body out. You take the one from this part of your arm, the one from your other eyebrow and the one from your lower lip, leaving the one that is attached to your uvula. That's a good one.

And then you take your three safety pins and you put them next to his three safety pins on the dressing stand, and then, because you're really falling in love, you have a little ceremony where you make two identical pyramids out of the six safety pins.

And as the crescendo comes in the Phoebe Snow album, you lay back, you get your legs up, he gets on top of you—he has to get on top of you, no other way now, and he's right on top of you there, and the next thing you know he has these little pop-star lips up next to your little teen-age girl type ear, and you hear this, this voice whispering in your ear that says, "I'M IN YOU! I'M IN YOU! I'M IN YOU! I'M IN YOOOOOOU!!"

Well, let's remember one thing, boys and girls, you wanted him in there, didn't you? And that's where he went, he went right in there. And so we have this song that is called, "I Have Been In You." This is for everybody who might, who might know how true that other story actually was . . .

Na, na na, na na, ooh ooh
Na, na na, na na, oo-ooh ooh
Na, na na, na na, oo-ooh oo-oo-ooh, oo-ooh . . .

Now, wait just a minute, wait a minute, this can't be right, that's too fast for a romantic song. It should be like . . . Na, na na, na na . . . You know, slow it down a bit. Okay. One, and-a-two, and-a-three, and-a-four, hey . . .

Na, na na, na na, ooh ooh
Na, na na, na na, oo-ooh ooh
Na, na na, na na, oo-ooh oo-oo-ooh, oo-ooh . . .

I have been in you, baby
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
And 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 outa you
(In 'n outa you, in 'n outa yoo-oo-ou)
An' everywhere
You want me to
(In 'n outa yoo-oo-oo-ou)
You know it's true;

And while
I was inside
I mighta 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
Aw' little girl, there ain't no time
To wash yer stinky hand
Go 'head 'n roll over
I'm goin' in you again, well
In you again
In you again, well
In you again . . .

I'm goin' . . . yeah
In you again
I'm goin' in you again-ahhh
In you again
I'm goin' in you again-ahhh
In you again
Yeah, I in you again-ahhh
In you again

Na, na na, na na, ooh ooh
Na, na na, na na, oo-ooh ooh
Na, na na, na na, oo-ooh oo-oo-ooh, oo-ooh . . .

Well, darlin', I told I was going in you again. And I wasn't lying to you, I would never lie to you. After all, you buy my records. I couldn't lie to you. Yeah, I went in you again and I'm probably gonna go in you again some more, and I just want you to remember a couple of things while I'm going in there and coming out of there and going in there, is that I just want you to keep on buying my goddamn records, because it's people like you that make life possible for assholes like me with the little burn holes in the satin shirt.

You know, I, I don't know whether you realize this, being nothing more—or nothing less—than a teen-age girl, but there are so many wonderful things in the world of rock 'n roll that chumps like you make possible for us fantastic people with big record contracts, you see?

If it weren't for you, pitiful little specimens of humanity with your legs up in the air in the universal gesture of greeting—imitating me with my stupid safety pins, you wearing your safety pins—Hey, don't get me wrong! I'm going in you again! No, I still like you, it's okay. Look, just to show you that I'm really a nice guy, I'm not even going to remark about your white cotton underpants with the brown skid mark on 'em—I could care less, so long as I get a little pussy tonight, I'm going someplace else tomorrow.

But when I leave, honey, I want you to remember, keep on buying my records, dear, just keep buying them and tell all of your friends to buy those records because Lord knows I'm so sincere in the songs that I sing to you on there—As a matter of fact, let me show you two or three neat ways that you can jack off while you listen to these records. Got a hair brush? You don't? Well, how about this one? Why don't you lie down in the bath tub and stick your legs up in the air in the universal gesture of greeting and just let the water drip out of the faucet onto the thing there. And if that doesn't work, well, get a vibrator. You know, batteries aren't that expensive.

Well, guess I'd better sing to you again, dear. I'm almost falling in love. I'm gonna have to leave here soon, you know?

I'm going in you again, baby
'N you can go in me too,
That's true
I'm goin' in you again, baby
'N later when we get through
Guess what?
I'm going in you again, baby
'N you can go in me too
I'M IN YOU!
I'm goin' in you again, baby
'N later when we get through
I'm goin' in you again-ahh
In you again, ah!
In you again-ahh
In you again, ah!
In you again-ahh
In you again, ah!
In you again-ahh
In you again, ah!

Flakes! Flakes!
Flakes! Flakes!

They don't do no good
They never be workin'
When they oughta should
They waste your time
They're wastin' mine
California's got the most of them
Boy, they got a host of them

Swear t'God they got the most
At every business on the coast
Swear t'God they got the most
At every business on the coast
They got the Flakes

Flakes! Flakes!

They can't fix yer brakes
You ask 'em, "Where's my motor?"
"Well, it was eaten by snakes . . . "
You can stab 'n shoot 'n spit
But they won't be fixin' it
They're lyin' an' lazy
They can be drivin' you crazy

Swear t'God they got the most
At every business on the coast
Swear t'God they got the most
At every business on the coast
(Take it away, Bob . . . )

I asked as nice as I could
If my job would
Somehow be finished by Friday
Well, the whole damn weekend
Came 'n went, Frankie
(Wanna buy some acid, Bob?)
You know what? They didn't do nothin'
But they charged me double for Sunday

Now, you know, no matter what you do,
They gonna cheat 'n rob you
'N then they'll give you a bill
'N it'll get your senses reelin'
And if you do not pay
They got computer collectors
That'll get you so crazy
'Til your head'll go through th' ceilin'
Yes it will!

One Two Three Four!

One Two, huh, Four!

One Two Three Four!
One Two Three Four!

Hey!
Do you know what you are?
You're an asshole! 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 that
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
(A beautiful lady)
Was his name . . .
(Alive and living in leather)
The whiskers sticking out from underneath of his Pancake make-up
Nearly drove you insane
(Next week it's all-nude wrestling)
And so you kissed a little sailor
(Who is your . . . )
Who had just blew in from Spain
(Nice . . .)
You pulled the chain attached to the permanently-erected nipples of Jimmy
In a bold salute to pain
You sniffed the reeking buns of Angel
And acted like it was cocaine
You were dazzled by the exciting new costume of Ko-Ko
In a way you can't explain
And so you worked the wall with Michael
Which gave your back an awful strain
But you came back on Sunday for the gong shows
But you forgot what I was sayin'
'Cause you're an asshole, you're an asshole
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
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
(Pud!)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Ride the wild surf
Cock wrench)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Benedictus)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Meeow!)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
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 poop chute
(Ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poooop chute
(Ay ay ay ay ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer . . .

Aw, I knew you'd be surprised, buddy!

FZ: In today's rapidly changing world, rock groups appear every 14 or 15 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, our cute little drummer.
Terry: That's meeee!
FZ: Terry recently felt in love with a publicity photo of a boy named Punky Meadows.
Terry: Oh, Punky.
FZ: Lead guitar player from a group called ANGEL. In the photograph, Punky was seen with a beautiful shiny hairdo in a semi-profile which emphasized the pooched out succulence of his insolent pouting 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!
(Pouting for you, you friggin' sailor?)
Might not be pouting for me!
(Eat chain, buddy . . . Punky Meadows?)
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 whips, Punky's whips
His hair's so shiny, I love his hips
I love his teeth, 'n his gums 'n such . . .
PUNKY
(What?)
You're an ANGEL . . .
You're too much

(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 all say
(Yeah, 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, you know I dig his hair while eatin' dunk-y chips
Yeah, I like 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 NITE 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
I AIN'T GAY
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array)

I-I
Lord, I-I'm fo-ow-o-nd
Of chiffo-on
In a wrist array-ee-ay-hey
I swear
I'm fo-o-nd
Of chiffo-on
In a wrist array-hey-ay-ay-hey
Come on, Punky
Funky Punky
Funky Punky
Funky Funky Punky

It was the blackest night
There was no moon in sight
You know the stars ain't shinin'
'Cause the sky's too tight
I 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 noticed even the crickets
Were 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 was 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:
Oh, 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:
Hey, I want my Chrissy.

Terry:
Yeah.

FZ:
'N I want my beer
So you just spew it back up
Now, Devil, do you hear?

Terry:
Blow it out your ass, motorcycle man!
I mean, I am the Devil,
Do you understand?

FZ:
Oh, yeah . . .

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
That's about the only reason I learned writin' for . . .
Gimme that contract . . . bet yer horns I will sign . . .
Because I need a beer,
'N it's titty-squeezin' time!

Terry:
Now, wait a minute, man, you can't fool me, you know, you ain't that bad . . .

FZ:
Oh, yeah.

Terry:
You shoulda seen some of the souls that I've had
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: You still wanna make a deal, huh?
FZ: Oh, yeah, hey, listen . . .

You can have my soul
It's a mean little sucker
'Bout a thousand years old
But once you gets it
You can't give it back
You've got to keep it forever
An' that's a natural fact!

Terry: Oh, no, hold on a second, man, keep it forever? You're so bold . . . You know, I mean, I don't know if I wanna get into this after all.
FZ: Look, you either take my soul or play doctor. What it's gonna be?
Terry: Oh, man. I don't wanna do either one!
FZ: Ha ha ha . . . Well, I'm gonna make it easy on ya. I mean, since this is England and everything, we don't wanna trundle this thing into the ground, you know?
Terry: Yeah.
FZ: Look. It's real simple. All I want is titties and beer.
Terry: Oh, no. No.
FZ: Titties and beer.
Terry: Oh no, man.
FZ: Titties and beer.
Terry: I mean, not the right cat.
FZ: Titties and beer. Titties and beer.
Terry: No way. Unh-unh.
FZ: Titties and beer. Titties and beer.
Terry: Forget it.
FZ: Titties and beer. Titties and beer. Titties and beer.
Terry: Absolutely not.
FZ: Titties and beer. Titties and beer.
Terry: No way. Unh-unh. Negatory. Listen . . .
FZ: Ha ha! Are you ossified or . . . ?

Terry:
No! Don't sign it then! Give me time to think . . .
I mean . . . 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,
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?

FZ:

Alright. This is it. This is Audience Participation Time.

For the last couple of nights we've actually gone so far to the realms of bad taste as to bring living members of the audience onto our stage to attempt to dance to the song that we're going to play.

Now, many rational individuals might feel that this is—well, it's an unnecessary thing to do. I mean, why should you just get tense fidgeting disinterested and completely arhythmic individuals onto the stage to make their bodies flop around to a song that is—you never should have dance to it in the first place.

People say to themselves, "Why? Why bother? Why should anybody want to do this? What a stupid fucking thing to do." But, ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you that is precisely why we are here, to do all of the stupid fucking things that you are too evolved to even consider.

And so, I make this proposal to you, I need two very bad dancers, I mean, no talent whatsoever, complete oafs, one boy oaf and one girl oaf, to come out—Are you an oaf? Yes, you are! Right. This way please. What's your name?

Rob:

Rob!

FZ:

Rob? What's your late name, Rob?

Rob:

Lipfriend.

FZ:

Rob Lipfriend? Alright, Rob, can you dance?

Rob:

No.

FZ:

Turn around so I could see you. Like your clothes, Rob, you are looking good. What it says? "FZ suck—sucks and goes home." Hey, that's wonderful. Rob, you're just the kind of person we need up here.

Okay. And now one matching female oaf. You're not a female oaf. I'm what? I didn't hear you. How do I know? Okay! Ha, hah. With an answer like that, come up.

What's your name?

Ben Watson:

Eric Dolphy.

FZ:

Alright, Eric. Ha ha. I'm sure he's rolling over in his grave over that one.

Terry:

Son of Devo.

FZ:

Let's pretend that we've already achieve our objective. You people decide which one is going to be the girl oaf. And now, the reason why I'm going to go hog wild as they say in the trade—I mean, the first night we had too many people up here, it was so messy.

Here is the rules and regulations of our dance contest—and I hope you boys are paying attention to this. This song is approximately two minutes long, at the end of the song your time is up, you voluntarily remove yourselves from the stage. During those two minutes you are free to express yourself in any manner that you desire, as long as you don't injure each other, any member of the audience or harm any of our equipment or any members of our rocking teen-age combo. Is that clear?

Okay. In other words, for a couple of minutes it's all yours, guys . . . and gals, maybe. The name of this song is, "The Black Page #2." Okay? One, two, three, four!

 

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
Said 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!
Look out for them the deadly jaws!
Aw, can you tell it, baby, OOOUUUCH!

 

Dong work for Yuda,
Dong, Dong
Dong work for Yuda,
Dong, Dong
Dong work for Yuda,
Dong, Dong
Dong work for Yuda,
Dong, Dong

Dong was Wong,
'N Wong was Kong
'N Dong work for Yuda,
Huh?

This is the story 'bout
Bald-Headed John
(Dong work for Yuda,
Dong, Dong)
He talks a lot 'n it's usually wrong
(Dong work for Yuda,
Dong, Dong)

He said Dong was Wong,
'N Wong was Kong
'N Dong work for Yuda,
'N John was wrong

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again
Dong work for Yuda
Dong, Dong
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Come on, Terry, let me open up your poop chute

John's got a sausage
Yeh yeh
John's got a sausage
Yeh yeh
John's got a sausage that'll make you fart
John's got a sausage that'll break your heart
Make you fart
And break your heart
Don't bend over if you are smart

He took a little walk to the weenie stand
John's got a sausage
Yeh man
A great big weenie in both his hands
John's got a sausage
Yeh man
He sucked on the end 'til the mustard squirt
He said, "Ya'll stand back 'cause you might get hurt"

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again
John's got a sausage
Yeh man

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again
He said Dong was Wong
'N Wong was Kong
Kong was Gong
'N John was wrong

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

I need a dozen towels so the boys can take a shower

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

I wave my bags
You wave your'n

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

How much did they wave?

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Hey, David, this room got good acusnics

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

That boy's so skinny he look like Ahapa-Magandha
(Oo-ooh)
That boy's so skinny he look like Ahapa-Magandha
(Doo-ooh)
That boy's so skinny he look like Ahapa-Magandha
(Doo-ooh)
That boy's so skinny he look like Ahapa-Magandha

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

FZ:

The tragic story of the three assholes. I guess I'm reaching you, right? You anyway. You too! Oh, more of the gas escaping. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the tragic story of the three assholes that were just climbing around up there. I think they caught 'em.

There are three other assholes that inspired this song, and the three that inspired the song were members of the journalistic community. They came to interview me one time, brought their girlfriends with 'em. This is in the early days of the Women's Liberation movement, when it was really important for a guy to prove to the girl that he was with that he was on their side. You know what I mean?

The first guy on the bloc to say "miss" to somebody. He thought he was gonna get sucked off because he would say it first. And of course a lot of the girls were stupid enough to suck him off just befo— because he said "miss." They thought, "Hey, a live one. This guy'll do anything."

And so, these three guys that came to interview me were from that school of thought, and the, their— the idea of what they're gonna do was come over there and try and ask me these really deep sensitive questions, say, and thereby make me look shitty, make them look good and make the girlfriends suck them all off after the interview.

It did not work. What it did do, however, was cause the construction of this song. Now this song is in the realm of theory. This is a fantasy story that could have happened in the lives of those three guys, where they might wind up from that kind of behavior. It goes like this . . .

Hey there, people, I'm Bobby Brown
They say I'm the cutest boy in town
My car is fast, my teeth is shiney
I tell all the girls they can kiss my heinie
Here I am at a famous school
I'm dressin' sharp 'n I'm
Actin' cool
I got a cheerleader here wants to help with my paper
Let her do all the work 'n maybe later I'll rape her

Oh God I am the American dream
I do not think I'm too extreme
An' I'm a handsome sonofabitch
Gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Women's Liberation
Came creepin' all across the nation
I tell you people, I was not ready
When I fucked this dyke by the name of Freddie
She made a little speech then,
Boy, she tried to make me say when
She had my balls in a vice, but she left the dick
I guess it's still hooked on, but now it shoots too quick

Oh God I am the American dream
But now I smell like Vaseline
An' I'm a miserable sonofabitch
Am I a boy or a lady . . . I don't know which

So I went out 'n bought me a leisure suit
I jingle my change, but I'm still kinda cute
Got a job doin' radio promo
An' none of the jocks can even tell I'm a homo
Eventually me 'n a friend
Sorta of drifted along into S&M
I can take about an hour on the tower of power
'Long as I gets a little golden shower

Oh God I am the American dream
With a spindle up my butt till it makes me scream
An' I'll do anything to get ahead
I lay awake nights sayin', "Thank you, Fred!"
Oh God, Oh God, I'm so fantastic!
Thanks to Freddie, I'm a sexual spastic
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now; I'm goin' down,
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now; I'm goin' down,
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now; I'm goin' down
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now because the name of this song is "Envelopes" . . .

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 are really sweet
You're really sweet

In and out, mmmh . . .
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
Why don't you make it go faster

 

Disco Boy
Run to the toilet, honey,
Comb your hair

Disco Boy
Pucker yer lip,
'N check yer shoulder,
'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)
And play doctor

Disco Boy!
Run to the toilet, honey,
Comb your hair

Disco Boy!
Shake it more than three times 'n yer playin' with it
(WOW!)
While yer standin' there!

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!
Oh, eat it up now

Well,
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)

Yah, Doody
You never go doody
Oh, Doody
You never go doody

Oh, so rock

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!

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

FZ: Looking all right tonight is Patrick O'Hearn on bass, Tommy Mars on keyboards, Adrian Belew on guitar, Little Skinny Terry Ted Bozzio on drums, Peter Wolf on keyboards and Ed Mann on percussion.

 

FZ: Let's play doctor.

Tommy: Doctor? D-O-C-T-O-R?

I couldn't say where she's coming' from,
But I just met a lady named Dinah-Moe Humm, hah hah!

She stroll on over, say look here, bum,
I got a forty-dollar bill say 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

I don't mind that she called me a bum,
But I knew right away she was really gonna cum, yeah
(So I got down to it)

I whipped off her bloomers 'n stiffened my thumb
An' applied rotation on 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
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
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 get out of it
Before I get into it
'Cause I can't get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta get out of it
To get myself into it

(Well, 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,
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)
An' 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 . . .
Because it's real angora
Would y'all like some more-a?
Right here on the flora?
An' how 'bout you, Fauna?
Do y'wanna?

All right then . . .

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 say 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

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)

I whipped off her bloomers 'n stiffened my thumb
An' applied rotation on her sugar plum

I poked 'n stroked till my wrist got numb
An' you know I heard some Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe

FZ: You're probably wondering why I'm going like that with the microphone, it's just a—it's just kind of a international gesture of trust, you see? I'll go like that, and when I go like that, you'll just say "Dinah-Moe" and have a good time there in your seat. You'd be amazed what a wonderful sensation it is to be a part of a huge choral organization. Your voices joined together on those simple words, "Dinah-Moe." All fifty, sixty of ya. Just sing it right out. It could be very exhilarating. But then again it could be a boring waste of time like the rest of the program. Who knows? It's so hard to tell these things when you go to a foreign shore. We'll give it a try, we'll find out whether you guys are hot or whether you're not. Alright? Your big chance.

Dinah-Moe

Crowd: Dinah-Moe!

FZ: Okay, forget it. Let's see, what could we do with these people? They're really very tired. Huh . . .

Tommy: Play doctor.

FZ: Let's play doctor.

Tommy: Play doctor?

FZ: No, I've got it. See this guy over there, the one that's sleeping? Everybody assume that position. We're gonna give you, you know, just a little dream, a make-believe—This is a dreaming, make-believing concert. You're going to sleep. The Queen wants you to go to sleep. You are going to sleep. While you're asleep you're going to play doctor.

Tommy: Doctor?

FZ: Only you're gonna do it while we play "Camarillo Brillo."

Tommy: Doctor?

FZ: 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
(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 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
(Is that a real poncho, or is that an English poncho?)

And so she wandered
Through the door-way
Just like a shadow from the tomb
She said her stereo was four-way, that's right
An' oh God, I would love it up 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

I chewed my way
Through her rancid panocha
She laid buck nekkid
By the door
And we did it till we were sort of un-concho, obviously
And it was useless anymore
Well, yes, it was useless anymore
Yes, it was useless anymore

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'

FZ:

Patrick, Adrian, Tommy, Terry, Peter, Ed. Good night!

Thank you. Alright, look, what are you into? You know, you wanna listen to some stuff or you want, you know, bogus frenzy or what? 'Cause we got a, we got a couple of new songs we could play for you, or we could play a couple of old songs that are regular encore stuff.

So here's what we'll do. How many want the new ones?

How many want the old ones?

Okay, you got it. The name of this song is "Black Napkins."

Wee-ee-oooh
Wee-ee-oooh
Wee-ee-oooh

Wee-ee-oooh
Wee-ee-oooh
Wee-ee-oooh

Wee-ee-oooh
Wee-ee-oooh
Wee-ee-oooh

Wee-ee-oooh
Wee-ee-oooh
Wee-ee-oooh

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 might 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

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 to San Ber'dino
Just 60 miles, 60 miles
Down the San Ber'dino freeway
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

Ain't talkin' 'bout Fontana
Ain't talkin' 'bout ooh ooh
Ain't talkin' 'bout uh uh
Ain't talkin' 'bout ooh ooh
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
Wouldja b'lieve it
Wouldja b'lieve it
Yeah, let's all go down to San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
San Ber'dino
(Got to call it)
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 got a head like a potato
I really am

Patrick, Adrian, Tommy, Terry, Peter, Ed. Thank you. Good night.