Zappa In New York 40th Anniversary Deluxe Edition

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:
Titties 'n all!

FZ:
Well, what about the beer then, boy?

Terry:
Ah . . . Were the cans this tall?

FZ:
Even her boots?

Terry:
Would I lie to you?

FZ:
Shit, you musta been hungry!

Terry:
Yes, 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,
'N I want my beer
So you just barf 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?
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 ass I will sign . . .
Because I need a beer,
'N it's titty-squeezin' time!

Terry:
Man, you can't fool me . . . you ain't that bad . . .
I mean you shoulda seen some of the souls that I've had . . .

FZ:
Oh, yeah?

Terry:
Why there was Milhous Nixon 'n Agnew, too . . .
'N both of those suckers was worse 'n you . . .

FZ:
Well, let's make a deal if you think that's true
I mean, you're the Devil so . . .
Whatcha gonna do?

Terry: Wait a minute, a tinge of doubt crosses my mind when you say that you want to make a deal with me.
FZ: That's very, very true . . . s— I'm only interested in two things.
Terry: Yeah .
FZ: See if you can guess what they are.
Terry: I would think . . . uh . . . let's see, maybe . . . uh . . .
FZ: Well, I'll give you . . .
Terry: Stravinsky . . . and, uh . . .
FZ: I'll give you two clues.
Terry: . . . let's see . . . uh . . .
FZ: Let go of your pickle.
Terry: What?
FZ: Let go of your pickle!
Terry: I'm not holding my pickle.
FZ: Well, who's holding your pickle then?
Terry: I don't know . . . ha! She's out in the audience. Hey, Dale, would you like to come up here and hold my pickle to satisfy this weird man out here on the stage?
FZ: I'm only interested in two things, that's titties and beer, you know what I mean?
Terry: What?
FZ: Yeah.
Terry: Titties and beer?
FZ: Titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry: (Growling) Whoa, I don't know if you're the right guy!
FZ: . . . titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .

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

FZ:
Alright!

Terry:
Hold on a second, boy . . .
'Cause that's Magic Ink!

And then the Devil let go of his pickle
'N out jumped m'girl
They heard the titties PLOP-PLOPPIN'
All around the world, she said:

"I GOT ME 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?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?

FZ: Awright . . .

 

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She was my steady date
Until she put on weight

Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Emma
(Dip!
Too-koo-too koo-too-koo
Too-koo-too too-koo-too)

Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Emma
(Dip!
Boogedy boogedy
Boogedy boogedy)

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out

FZ: Thank you!

FZ: And for our next number . . .

 

 

FZ: All right now, watch this . . . Let me tell you 'bout this song. This song was originally constructed as a drum solo. That's right. Now, after Terry learned how to play "The Black Page" on the drum set, I figured, well, maybe it would be good for other instruments. So I wrote a melody that went along with the drum solo, and that turned into "The Black Page, Part 1, The Hard Version." Then I said, well, what about the other people in the world who might enjoy the melody of "The Black Page" but couldn't really approach its statistical density in its basic form? So, I went to work and constructed a little ditty which is now being set up for you with this little disco type vamp. This is "The Black Page, Part 2, The Easy Teen-age New York Version." Get down with your bad selves so to speak to "The Black Page, Part 2."

FZ: Thank you.
Guy From The Audience: Yeah, Frank!
FZ: Did anybody dance?

Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me

He was the Playboy Type (he smoked a pipe)
His fav'rite phrase was "OUTA-SITE!"
He had an Irish Setter
(Hrtch-a-pltch
Hrtch-a-pltch
Hrtch-a-pltch
Arf!)

It was a singles bar, a Tuesday night
The moon was dim, the band was tight
They did the Bump together

What a splendid sight
(Roon doon doon doon)
Her teeth were white
(Oo-ah oo-oooh)
The drinks were cheap (it was Ladies Nite)
He was glad that he met her

She was an office girl ("My name is Betty")
Her fav'rite group was HELEN REDDY
(They discussed the weather)

Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Man!

She was a lonely sort, just a little too short
Her jokes were dumb and her fav'rite sport
Was hockey (in the winter)

He was duly impressed and was quick to suggest
Any sport with a PUCK had to be 'bout the best
As he jabbed his elbow in her (get it honey? Get it?)

Later on they went off to where the music was soft,
The candles were drippy, they saw a REAL HIPPY
Who delivered their dinner

The rice was brown, and soon they found
That the crowd around that had jammed the room,
Well it seemed to be getting thinner

Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Man!

He took her home to a motor court
She would not kiss him, he tried to ignore it,
But it made him angry! (Angry! It made me angry!
Why it made me so angry
I COULD HAVE KILLED THAT LOUSY BITCH!)

He called her a slut
(Slut slut slut . . . )
A pig
(Pig pig pig . . . )
And a whore
(Whore whore whore . . . )
A bitch
(Bitch bitch bitch . . . )
And a cunt
(Cunt cunt cunt . . . )
And she slammed the door
(The door!)
In a petulant frenzy!
(A petulant frenzy!
This is a petulant
Frenzy!
I'm petulant,
And I'm having a frenzy!)

On the sofa she weeps
BOO HOO HOO HOO
She weeps and she weeps
BOO HOO HOO HOO HOO HOO
She weeps and she peeps
Through the curtain

He just got in his car
But the battery's dead
So he asked to use the phone
And she gives him some head
And that's the end of the story

Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Man!
Baby don't you want a man sometimes?

FZ: And now folks, it's time for Don Pardo to deliver our special Illinois Enema Bandit-type announcement. Take it away, Don!
Don Pardo: This is a true story about a famous criminal from right around Chicago. This is the story of Michael Kenyon, a man who's serving time at this very moment for the crime of armed robbery. It so happens, that at the time of these robberies, Michael decided to give his female victims a little enema—apparently, there was no law against that. But his name lives on—Michael Kenyon, THE ILLINOIS ENEMA BANDIT!

The Illinois Enema Bandit
I heard he's on the loose
I heard he's on the loose
Lord, the pitiful screams
Of all them college-educated women . . .
He'd just be tyin' 'em up
(They'd be all bound down!)
Just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice

The Illinois Enema Bandit
I heard it on the news
I heard it on the news
Bloomington Illinois . . . he has caused some alarm
Just sneakin' around there
From farm to farm
He's got a rubberized bag
And a hose on his arm
Lookin' for some rustic co-ed rump
That he just might wanna pump
Lookin' for some rustic co-ed rump
That he just might wanna pump
Lookin' for some rustic co-ed rump
That he just might wanna pump

The Illinois Enema Bandit
One day he'll have to pay
Some day he'll have to pay
The police will say, "You're under arrest!"
And the judge would have him for a special guest
Then the D.A. will order a secret test
Stuff his pudgy little thumbs in the side of his vest
Then they'll put out a call-yooou! for the jury folks
(That's you over there)
And the judge would say, "No poo-poo jokes!"
Then they'll drag in the bandit for all to see,
Sayin' "Don't nobody, no no, have no sympathy . . .
HOT SOAPY WATER in the FIRST DEGREE!"
And then the Bandit might say, "Why is everybody lookin' at me?"

DID YOU CAUSE THIS MISERY?
WELL DID YOU CAUSE THIS KINDA MISERY?
WELL DID YOU CAUSE THIS MISERY?
Well, one girl shout: "Let the Bandit be!"

BANDIT ARE YOU GUILTY?
BANDIT ARE YOU GUILTY?
TELL ME NOW, WHAT'S YOUR PLEA?
Another girl shout: "Let the fiend go free!"

ARE YOU GUILTY? BANDIT, DID YOU DO THESE DEEDS?
COME ON, NOW
He said, "It must be just what they all need . . . "
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
(That's right!)
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
(Over there)
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
(Help me out now!)
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
(That's right)
"It must be just what they all need . . . "

He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"Don't you know it must be just what they all need . . . "
(That's it!)
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "

He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"Don't you know it must be just what they all need . . . "
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice

He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice

He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be . . . hey!

Talkin' bout them Illinois . . .
Illinois . . .
Ain't talkin' 'bout Fontana . . . ha . . .
Ain't talkin' 'bout Po-head-otated . . . ha . . .
(I'll try again . . . )
Potato Headed Bobby
Talkin' 'bout the Illinois Enema Bandit
Yeah yeah yeah

FZ: Wait a minute, this is for Roy Estrada, wherever he is . . .

Wanna-wanna-wannanenema
An enema
Wanna-wanna-wannanenema
An enema
I wanna-wanna-wannanenema
Eh . . .
Take it away!

The Illinois Enema Bandit
(The Enema Bandit)
The Enema Bandit
(The Enema Bandit)
The Enema Bandit
Talkin' bout the Illinois Enema Bandit . . .

( . . . It can't happen here!)
Juice!

FZ: Awright-awright! Ray White, the assistant Illinois Enema Bandit, live on stage here in New York . . . ! That's it . . . sit right down and make yourselves comfortable . . .

 

Don Pardo: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Ron Delsener is proud to present the most important musical event of 1976, the concert New York has been waiting for since the old days at the Garrick Theatre. Hi! I'm Don Pardo and it gives me a great personal thrill to be able to shout at this time the name of the group that will bring you an evening of music designed to BLOW YOUR MIND! Ladies and gentlemen, here they are, here it is, ZAPPA!

FZ: Nice . . . We have a note along with the bullets, it says, "Please, give this to the Ohio Enema Bandit. We love your shoes." It's the Illinois Enema Bandit—unless there's another one working in Ohio, but if we find one in Ohio we'll certainly give those to him. "This is from Diane and Ellen. Thank you very much" . . . Well, ladies and gents, welcome to the last of our New York concerts, and I'd like to say that we have enjoyed hitting on this series of shows for you and we're gonna try and make this one the very best, most special one . . . I know that many of the people in the audience have bought tickets to the whole series of concerts, and uh, we think that's . . . that's telling us something about the kind of fans we have in New York—you guys are out of your fucking mind, aren't you? . . . Well, that's nice. We like to have people like that . . . And tonight we're going to open the same way we did for the last few nights, with a song that is very close to my heart, folks . . . Huh? "Muffin Man"? No, it's not "Muffin Man," no, guess again . . . No, wrong again, 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
And the torture never stops
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops

Slime 'n rot 'n 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
That's right!

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
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops

Just like Nils Lofgren!

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 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

FZ: Alright, everybody get down and get funky. I mean, really, you know, f— Just as funky as— Just as funky as a donkey. You know what I mean? . . . While we get the groove going here for a little number entitled "The Black Page," I'm gonna drink some of this Alka-Seltzer.

FZ: Thank you. The name of that last number was "The Black Page, Part 2." Part 1 comes later 'cause it's harder.

FZ: This next— The next tune we're gonna do is entitled "Punky's Whips." And this is a very special event because tonight is Terrys Bozzio's birthday. Terry is our drummer. Terry is the Birthday Boy tonight. And I'm sure we all wish him well! However, let's be honest about it, friends and neighbours, that poor son of a bitch is sick. Because, you know, I've heard of some really perverted things in the rock 'n roll business but his true story is about the worst that I've heard. And this song that we're gonna do tells—well, not his complete life story but the story of his most recent exploits in the rock 'n roll field. And, uh, to help us out with the set-up for the story—and this is a true story—to help us out with the set-up we have imported to you, direct from NBC, non other than the golden voice of Mr. Don Pardo! Don, are you back there? Test your microphone, Don, tell me if you're with us.
Don Pardo: In today's rapidly changing world . . .
FZ: Hey! Wait, wait! Wait! Not yet. Okay, just wanted to see if it was working. Ah, here we go . . . "Punky's Whips" . . . One, two, three . . .

Don Pardo: In today's rapidly changing world, musical groups appear almost every day with 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, live on stage—yes, Terry 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. In the photo, 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 drummer mad with desire!

I can't stand the way he pouts
'Cause he might not be pouting for me!
(Pouting for you? You . . . Hah! Hah!
Oh, Don . . . You silly fool, pouting, ah!)
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 whips
To die on . . . I promise not to come in your mouth
Punky, Punky, your album's the shits
It's all wrong . . . but listen, this is no laughing matter

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's up, skin drummer?)
You're an ANGEL . . .
You're too much

He's been havin' a rash
(No shit)
That keeps the girls away
Skin doom
Is what the doctors say

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 dig this . . .
I AIN'T QUEER
I AIN'T GAY
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array
A wrist array)

Punky's lips, Punky's lips
Let me tell you
He makes me squirt eatin' dunk-y chips
Oh, I love his blink and his blank-blank-blank
Yeah! Listen, Punky, how'd you like to yank my crank?
YANK IT PUNKY! YANK IT HARDER!
YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT! YANK IT FASTER!
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)
That's all it is
(A wrist array)
I AIN'T QUEER
I AIN'T GAY
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array)

I-I'm fo-fo-o-o-nd
Of chiffo-on
In a wrist array-ee-ay-hey
That's—
That's what I—
That's what I say
I-I-I-I-I-I-I
Lord, I'm fo-o-nd
Of chiffo-on
In a wrist array
Come on, Punky!
I
I'm fond of chiffon
Come on, Punky

Hey! I'm fond of it!

FZ: Alright, we have a—ahem—you'll excuse the expression, folks—a ballad to play for you now. This is a tender succulent number entitled "I Promise Not To Come In Your Mouth" . . . One, two, three . . .

Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me

He was the Playboy Type (he smoked a pipe)
His fav'rite phrase was "OUTA-SITE!"
He had an Irish Setter
(Hrtch-a-pltch
Hrtch-a-pltch
Hrtch-a-pltch
Arf!)

It was a singles bar, a Tuesday night
The moon was dim, the band was tight
They did the Bump together

What a splendid sight
(Roon doon doon doon)
Her teeth were white
(Oo-ah oo-oooh)
The drinks were cheap (it was Ladies Nite)
He was so glad that he met her

She was an office girl (Her name was Betty)
Her fav'rite group was HELEN REDDY
(They discussed the weather)

Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Man!

She was a lonely sort, just a little too short
Her jokes were dumb and her fav'rite sport
Was hockey (in the winter)
(Ah, you son of a bitch . . .)

He was duly impressed and was quick to suggest
Any sport with a PUCK had to be 'bout the best
As he jabbed his elbow in her

Later on they went off to where the music was soft,
The candles were drippy, they saw a REAL HIPPY
Who delivered their dinner

The rice was brown, and soon they found
That the crowd around that had jammed the room,
Well it seemed to be getting thinner

Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Man!

He took her home to a motor court
She would not kiss him, he tried to ignore it,
But it made him angry! (Angry! It made me so angry!
So angry
I COULD HAVE KILLED THAT LOUSY BITCH!)

He called her a slut
A pig
(Pig pig pig . . . )
And a whore
(Whore whore whore . . . )
A bitch
(Bitch bitch bitch . . . )
And a cunt
(Cunt cunt cunt . . . )
And she slammed the door
(The door!)
In a petulant frenzy!
(A petulant frenzy!
This is a petulant
Frenzy!
I'm petulant,
And I'm having a frenzy!
So there!)

On the sofa she weeps
BOO HOO HOO HOO
She weeps and she weeps
BOO HOO HOO HOO HOO HOO
She weeps and she peeps
Through the curtain

Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a man like me
Honey honey, hey
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Baby don't you want a
Man!
Baby don't you want a man sometimes?

FZ: And now, a true story with another fantastic introduction brought to you through the courtesy of NBC. Take it away, Don Pardo!
Don Pardo: This is a true story about a famous criminal from right around Chicago. This is the story of Michael Kenyon, a man who is serving time at this very moment for the crime of armed robbery. It so happens, that at the time of these robberies, Michael decided to give his female victims a little enema—apparently, there was no law against that. But his name lives on—Michael Kenyon, THE ILLINOIS ENEMA BANDIT!

The Illinois Enema Bandit
I heard he's on the loose
I heard he's on the loose
Lord, the pitiful screams
Of all them college-educated women . . .
He'd just be tyin' 'em up
(They'd be all bound down!)
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
Just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
Just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice

The Illinois Enema Bandit
I heard it on the news
I heard it on the news
Bloomington Illinois . . . he has caused some alarm
Just sneakin' around there
From farm to farm
Got a rubberized bag
And a hose on his arm
Lookin' for some rustic co-ed rump
That he just might wanna pump
Lookin' for some rustic co-ed rump
That he just might wanna pump
Lookin' for some rustic co-ed rump
That he just might wanna pump

The Illinois Enema Bandit
Some day he'll have to pay
Some day he'll have to pay
The police will say, "You're under arrest!"
And then the judge would have him for a special guest
The D.A. will order a secret test
Stuff his pudgy little thumbs in the side of his vest
Then they'll put out a call-yooou! for the jury folks
(That's you right over there)
And the judge would say—take it away, judge
"No poo-poo jokes!"
Then they'll drag in the bandit for all to see,
Sayin' "Don't nobody, no no, have no sympathy . . .
HOT SOAPY WATER in the FIRST DEGREE!"
And then the Bandit might say, "Why is everybody lookin' at me?"

WELL DID YOU CAUSE THIS MISERY?
WELL DID YOU CAUSE THIS MISERY?
WELL DID YOU CAUSE THIS MISERY?
You know that one girl shout: "Let the Bandit be!"

ARE YOU GUILTY?
BANDIT, TELL ME, WHAT'S YOUR PLEA?
Another girl shout: "Let the fiend go free!"

ARE YOU GUILTY? ARE YOU GUILTY?
BANDIT, DID YOU DO THESE DEEDS?
COME ON, NOW
You know what he said?
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
(That's right!)
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
(That's right!)
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
(Yes . . .)
"It must be just what they all need . . . "

He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
". . . must be just what they all need . . . "
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
The Illinois Bandit Juice

He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"It must be just what they all need . . . "
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
Just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"I said it must be just what they all need . . . "
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"You know it must be just what they all need . . . "
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
He just be pumpin' every one of 'em up with all the bag fulla
"Well, it must be just what they all need . . ."
The Illinois Enema Bandit Juice
All right now!

He just be . . .
The Illinois . . .
Enema . . .
Bandit, yeah, yeah, yeah . . .
Ooh . . . Enema Bandit . . .
(Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yay-yah)
Enema Bandit
(Enema Bandit)
Enema Bandit
(Enema-nema-nema-ne-nema-ne-nema-ne-nema Bandit)
Bandit, yeah . . .
( . . . so did the Enema Bandit)
The Illinois Enema Bandit . . .

FZ: Alright!

FZ: You wanna hear "Montana," huh? . . . Let's see, ah . . . Okay, I'll tell you what we'll do, ah . . . We'll give you two for the price of one, see? We'll— We'll do "Montana," and, uh—but first we'll do another song—this song never gets played anymore, you know, it's— This song never was a hit, and it never will be a hit, but in spite of that fact, we figured that it's exactly what you need here tonight. I mean, Ron Delsener made this all possible just so you can hear this song. The name of which is "Penis Dimension" . . . So if you guys can change your music around up there, right? . . . One . . . Yeah, we'll play "Dinah-Moe Humm" later, so stop asking for it . . . Now just behave, 'cause we're recording this, so behave, okay? . . . One, two, three . . .

 

I might be movin' to Montana soon
Just to raise me up a crop of
Dental Floss

Raisin' it up
Waxen it down
In a little white box
I can sell uptown

But by myself I wouldn't
Have no boss,
'Cause I'd be raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss

Raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss
Raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss

Well I just might grow me some bees
But I'd leave the sweet stuff
To somebody else . . . ah, but then, on the other hand I would

Keep the wax
'N melt it down
Pluck the Floss
'N swish it aroun'

And I would have me a crop
An' it'd be on top (that's why I'm movin' to Montana)

Movin' to Montana soon
Gonna be a Dental Floss tycoon (Whoopee-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
Gonna be a mennil-toss flykune

I'm gonna find me a horse
Just about this big,
An' ride that sucker all along the border line

With a
Pair of heavy-duty
Zircon-encrusted tweezers in my hand
Every other wrangler would say
I was mighty grand

But by myself I wouldn't
Have no boss,
'Cause I'd be raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss

Raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss
Raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss

Well I might
Ride along the border
With my tweezers gleamin'
In the moon-lighty night

And then I would
Get a cuppa cawfee
'N give my foot a push . . .
Just me 'n the pygmy pony
Over by the Dennil Floss Bush

'N then I might just
Jump back on
An' ride
Like a cowboy
Into the dawn to Montana

Movin' to Montana soon
Movin' to Montana soon
(You can sing along on this too)
Movin' to Montana soon
Movin' to Montana soon
Movin' to Montana soon
Movin' to Montana soon
I was movin' to Montana soon
Movin' to Montana soon
(Good night, you've been a red hot audience!)
Movin' to Montana soon
Movin' to Montana soon

FZ: Hello, there! Well, you know, merry Christmas, happy new year, all that crap . . . Well, there certainly is a lot of you out there, aren't there? We have a special program tonight that consist of some of your old favorites that never get played and some brand new stuff that you've never heard before. Okay? Here is uh, the deluxe version of "America Drinks."

One, two, three, four . . .

Hey, I forgot my . . . be-bop . . .

FZ: Now we're gonna play a song now, uh— This song is from an album called One Size Fits All . . . Well I'm surprised you people have heard of it—didn't sell worth a shit, but that's not your fault. We have Warner Bros. to thank for that. We got— By the way, some of you might have been here last night—we ran a slide on the uh, screen. It said, "Warner Bros. Sucks," and we've got some irate phone calls today. Got a call from one of the big people at Warner Bros.—one of the people that you can't ever get on the telephone—this guy actually called up and said, "I've heard you had a banner at your concert the other night in New York that said, 'Warner Bros. Record Company Sucks'," and Bennet had to tell him that, "No, it was only a slide." And then the poor guy who shall go nameless and other things, he said, "Isn't there some way that we can make Frank stop saying bad things about our record company?" And there is a way to make Frank stop talking about Warner Bros., but it's not going to be easy. The problem with this song we're gonna do right now, and see, Perellis thought this song was gonna be a hit. I think he thought this song was gonna be a hit. Now, I always liked the song—some of you may still like the song, but there's no way in the world this tune could be a hit. Because, first of all, the words were in German. Now, we're not even gonna do the words, we're just gonna play the tune. The name of this song is "Sofa #2."

 

FZ: And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment that you've all been waiting for. Don Pardo—who as you might know is one of the fixtures for the past 33 years—the fixtures at NBC television. One of the— One of those voices that you just can't escape. And nobody ever gets to see Don Pardo. He's always hiding in the back. Yes, there! He has a picture of Don, isn't that sweet? That's when he first arrived at NBC in 1933. Tonight Don is going to make the big step forward. He's going to come out, he's going to expose himself. He may even circulate among you. We don't know how crazy he could get. He is also going to sing on this song. And the name of this song is "I'm The Slime." One, two, three, four . . .

I am gross and perverted
I'm obsessed 'n deranged
I have existed for years
But very little has changed
I'm the tool of the Government
And industry too
For I am destined to rule
And regulate you

I may be vile and pernicious
But you can't look away
I make you think I'm delicious
With the stuff that I say
I'm the best you can get
Have you guessed me yet?
I'm the slime oozin' out
From your . . .
Take it away, Don Pardo!

You will obey me while I lead you
And eat the garbage that I feed you
Until the day that we don't need you
Don't go away . . . no one will heed you
Your mind is totally controlled
It is stuffed into my mold
And you will do as you are told
Until the day the rights to you are sold
Take it awy, Frank!

Yes, that's right, Don
Don't touch that dial

I am the slime from your video
Oozin' along on your livin' room floor

I am the slime from your video
You can't stop the slime, people, lookit me go

I am the slime from your video
Oozin' along on your livin' room floor

I am the slime from your video
Can't stop the slime, people, lookit me go

FZ: Alright, do you wanna see Don Pardo go fucking crazy? . . . [...] New York! . . . Give it to 'em, Don . . . Oh, come on, Don. Get down, Don Pardo . . . 33 years in NBC and it's come to this . . .

FZ: The incredible dancing stylings of Don Pardo . . . Get down, Don! . . . Alright, we're gonna make a dramatic segue into another song that emanates from the Uncle Meat album. The name of this song is "Pound For A Brown." Don't forget the segue, you guys.

 

 

 

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She was my steady date
Until she put on weight

Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Emma
(Dip!
Boo-ka-boo-ka boo-ka
Boo-ka boo-ka boo-ka)

Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Emma
(Dip!
Too-koo-too koo-too-koo
Too-koo-too too-koo-too)

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out
Hey!

FZ: Thank you! . . . Awright, awright . . .

FZ: You know it's time . . . You're welcome! You know it's time for a song called "The Purple Lagoon." This is for all the jazz buffs and jazz buff-etts in the audience . . . You'll note that in the middle of this there's going to be some uh, jazz-type solos played by various wonderful members of our New York finest horn section, ladies and gentlemen. And, as if that weren't enough, there'll be a luxuriant punk-rock-type avant-garde bass solo by Patrick O'Hearn. But, the crowning moment of the song will be when Ruth Underwood has the audacity to play the melody from the "Be-Bop Tango" on top of the vamp—I knew we had "Be-Bop Tango" fans in New York! . . . Alright! . . . I always knew I could write an unforgettable melody, that's one of them, I'm sure. Anybody who— Anybody can hum along with the "Be-Bop Tango," just go and get yourself hospitalized right after the show. And she's not only gonna play the melody to the "Be-Bop Tango," but she's gonna do it against the vamp from the— from "Pound For A Brown," which we're going to insert in the middle of this sort of a musical uh, musical chairs-type melody, you know what I mean? Okay, here we go.

FZ: Thank you. Okay, it's time to relax again, listen, this is a song from my new album, it's called Zoot Allures, and uh, we actually had the audacity to release this song as a single—obviously it won't go anywhere, it'll go the same place as that other song we just played, "Big Leg Emma," which was a single that we had out in 1967. Ah-hem. The name of this song is "Find Her Finer." One, two, three, four . . .

Find her finer, sneak up behind her
Wrapped like a mummy till you finally unwind her
Find her blinder, see who designed her
Act like a dummy till you finally grind her

If you should see a girl on the street
Now maybe you might think she is sweet
But if you want a piece of her meat
Now really, what should you do?
(Rat-tat-tat-tat ta-da!)

Don't never let her know you are smart
The universe is nowhere to start
You gotta play it straight from the heart
Or she'll go doody on you
(That's why you gotta . . .)

Find her finer, sneak up behind her
Wrapped like a mummy till you finally unwind her
Find her blinder, see who designed her
Act like a dummy till you finally grind her

Now maybe you might think this is crude
And maybe you might think I am rude
And maybe this approach I have spewed
Is not the one for you
(Rat-tat-tat-tat ta-da!)

But believe me later on you'll gonna find
As you impress her with your mind
That you would just be left behind
For a wiser fool
(So you might as well)

Find her finer, sneak up behind her
Wrapped like a mummy till you finally unwind her
Find her blinder, see who designed her
Act like a dummy till you finally grind her

Find her finer, sneak up behind her
Wrapped like a mummy till you finally unwind her
Find her blinder, see who designed her
Act like a dummy till you finally grind her

Find her finer, sneak up behind her
Wrapped like a mummy till you finally unwind her
Find her blinder, see who designed her
Act like a dummy till you finally grind her

Find her finer, sneak up behind her
Wrapped like a mummy till you finally . . . Hah hah . . .
Find her blinder . . .

Gail: No! I just wanna get some really good shots of the band!
FZ: Go ahead, get some good shots of the band, I don't care. You know, some people'll do anything to get good shots of the band . . . Ladies and gentlemen, this is my wife, Gail. She's down here tonight—she's disguised as Linda McCartney. . . And uh, I just wanna say one thing before we end the song . . . Hah hah hah hah heh heh . . . Well, you always— Hah hah hah . . . You'll know, you'll know that the Golden Age of Rock 'n Roll is upon you when Paul McCartney comes out on stage and does that to Linda—then you'll know . . . Meanwhile, Gail, I hope you get some really good shots of the band.

FZ: Now this is the part of the song—yes, it's rock 'n roll alright, look how cheap this is, hey—this is the part of the song where I'm supposed to set you up for the next tune, which is a little bit on the weird side, see? And it also gives them a chance to get their music ready, you know, so yes, watch this. This song used to be called "Mars Needs Women," but since Bozzio went to the Gilded Grape and sort of had a modification of his social life, became very impressed with the MC—it's not just Punky's pictures that's influencing our drummer, you understand—Terry has fallen under the magic spell of the MC at the Gilded Grape. A man, a great man, a great MC, right up there with Don Pardo, a man that we have named Manx—his real name is Timothy, we call him Manx 'cause of the way his haircut is. If you go to the Gilded Grape you can see Manx over on the side, with this little podium, much like this thing here, and this little Arthur Godfrey mike, his champagne cocktail and his long, long, long cigarette, which never gets short, short, short. And he's the guy that introduces all the fantastic dancers of the Grape. Make sure you go down there on Wednesday night. Try out the Grape, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. And now, "Manx Needs Women."

 

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 a, 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

It was 11 o'clock upon a Friday night
You know that her and me was feeling outta' sight
We had twenty reds and a big ol' pile o' weed
You know we drank some wine and then we LSD'd

Well, Chrissy puked twice and jumped on my bike
She yelled, "Fire it up, because you know what I like!"
She burned her leg on a tail-pipe then
And yelled, "Shit-a-ree!," and puked again

That's right!

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 the 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:
Ah . . . Were the cans this tall?

FZ:
How 'bout her boots?

Terry:
Now, would I lie to you?

FZ:
Shit, you musta been hungry!

Terry:
Yeah, this is true.

FZ:
Well, don't they pay you good on your birthday
For what you all do?

Terry:
Well, you know
I can't complain when the checks come through . . .

FZ:
Well I want my Chrissy,
'N I want my beer
So you just spit her back up
Now, Devil, do you hear?

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

FZ:
That's about the only reason I learned writin' for . . .

Tery:
Yeah?

FZ:
Gimme that contract . . . bet yer ass 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 . . .

FZ:
Oh, yeah?

Terry:
I mean you shoulda seen some of the souls that I've had . . .
Why there was Milhous Nixon 'n Agnew, too . . .
'N both of those suckers were worse 'n you . . .

FZ:
Well, let's make a deal if you think that's true
I mean, shit, you're the Devil so . . .
Whatcha gonna do?

Terry: Wait, wait, hold it. You want to make a deal with me?
FZ: That's right, you heard right!
Terry: Now wait a second. You ain't supposed to wanna make a d— You see, I've propositioned quite a few people. . . .
FZ: Well, let me explain . . .
Terry: And nobody ever wanted to make a deal with me, you dig, alright?
FZ: What are you, an amateur devil? Don't you understand . . .
Terry: Wait a minute, hey man, I'm the— I am the Big One, I am . . .
FZ: You're the main Devil, huh?
Terry: Whatever his name is himself.
FZ: Yeah, you— Beelzebub, right?
Terry: I don't know, you can call him that if you want to, you know. Satan.
FZ: Yeah? Well, look now, I know it's your birthday and everything . . .
Terry: Lucifer.
FZ: Look. You might have— You might have missed . . .
Terry: You can call me Smothers.
FZ: I could call you Smothers. Smothers, can I call him Smothers? Alright. Now look, I wanna explain something to you—I know that you're overawed because it's your birthday and these things don't happen but once a year, you know?
Terry: That's true.
FZ: Yeah, when you're young and tender and succulent and available . . .
Terry: Yes.
FZ: No, not really available for, you know . . .
Terry: No, not really available.
FZ: Heh heh heh . . . Maybe next time though.
Terry: Maybe.
FZ: When you're succulent like that and everything, you know, and trying to pretend to be the Devil in front of literally thousands of people in a major American city like New York. You know it's, it's easy to overlook some simple details that are pertinant to our current dilemma. D'you get the drift? What I'm trying to tell you is I'm a simple minded person, you know?
Terry: Simple, uh-huh, yeah.
FZ: That's right.
Terry: Simple.
FZ: Me and Don Parde are just like that.
Terry: What?
FZ: Okay? Now I'm try—
Terry: Wait a minute, I thought you were a weirdo. I thought I could use you down there with . . .
FZ: No, you can't— Yeah, you can't— You can't use me, no no no, no, no no no. No matter what union you, you belong to.
Terry: Could it be that I made a mistake?
FZ: I'm only interested in a couple of things—and Bennett can bear me out on this—I'm only interested in two things. Tits and beer. Right? So, if there's anybody here in the audience that can agree with this . . . Help me out! Make sure the Devil does not get my soul tonight, just sing along . . .
Terry: Titties. Beer. Titties and beer . . .
FZ: Titties and beer, 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 . . .
I mean . . .
Hold on a second, boy . . .
'Cause that's Magic Ink!

And then the Devil puked
'N out jumped m'girl
They heard the titties PLOP-PLOPPIN'
All around the world, she said:

"I GOT ME THREE BEERS 'N A FIST FULLA DOWNS,
AN' I'M GONNA GET RIPPED, SO FUCK YOU CLOWNS!"

And 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?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
Alright!

FZ: Thanks for coming to the concert. Good night!

FZ: Thank you. And now, for a little piece of teen-age ecstasy that'll give Patrick, our bass player, a chance to show off, this is a song that we did on the Saturday Night Show, which uh—in the section where Belushi came out and was the Samurai saxophone player—unfortunately we don't have a Samurai saxophone player tonight so you'll have to use your imagination. We have an insert in that area, with a little bit of S&M allusion. The name of this tune is "The Purple Lagoon."

Don Pardo: And now, once again, the incredible, the unbelievable, the magnificent, the spectacular, the all-inspiring mind-boggling crush-throbbing tones of the greatest new undiscovered group in America, a group so unspeakably marvelous that their own record company can't even figure out what to do with 'em, and so, to be on the safe side, they're doing absolutely nothing. Let's hear it then, it's ZAPPA!

FZ: Yes, Warner Bros. Records does suck . . . Before, before we play this uh, little event for you, I'd like to tell you why I think Warner Bros. Records sucks. This is an— This is an actual quote from the president of Warner Bros. Records. This is from a meeting that our manager had over there last week. They went in to find out whether or not they had taken any ads or run any radio spots for the new album, and so they brought out the sheet that tells what they had done, and Mo Ostin, the president of Warner Bros. looked at the sheet and he himself said, "Why, this is appalling!" 'Cause they haven't done anything, see? And so Bennett says, "Well, what do you we have to do about it?" And Mo says, "Well, you know what? The next time Frank makes an album we should have a meeting" . . . And so, we'd like to dedicate this song to Mo and all of the rest of his business dinners for the rest of the year, may they all be accompanied by black napkins. One, two, three . . .

FZ: Good night! . . . Thanks a lot.

FZ: Okay, alright. This is it. Yes, yes, yes. We're here to please. It's "Dinah-Moe Humm" time . . . Alright!

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

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
Still didn't hear no Dinah-Moe Humm,
Dinah-Moe Humm

Well, 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

I 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
Can't get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta get 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,
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 . . .

I said,
Kiss my aura . . . Dora . . .
It's real angora
Would y'all like some more-a?
Right here on the flora?
How 'bout you, Fauna?
Do you wanna?

FZ: Alright. Look, will you guys— Will you guys help me sing the song if we go back to the top? Right. Alright, back to the top. Now you gotta sing along this time. Just like a big rock 'n roll show.

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
(That's right! 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

FZ: Alright, you get the next verse.

Guy From The Audience:
I whipped off her bloomers 'n stiffened my thumb
An' applied rotation on her sugar plum

FZ: No, wrong words.

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

Poked 'n stroked till my wrist got numb
You know I heard some Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe . . .

Girl From The Audience: Hi.
FZ: Hi.
Girl From The Audience: . . . kiss you.

Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe

Audience Members:
Dinah-Moe!
I said Dinah-Moe!
Dinah-Moe!
Little Dinah-Moe!
[...]

Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe . . .

FZ: Alright! Good bye, New York! . . . Thanks for coming to the show.

FZ: Hey, before we go away I wanna bring the horns here, introduce them to you, so that you can appreciate their splendor. Tom Malone on trombone. Randy Brecker on trumpet. Ron Cuber on baritone sax. Lou Marini on alto. Mike Brecker on tenor. Ray White on guitar. Patrick O'Hearn on bass. Dave Samuels on timpani—come on down here so they can see your body, David. Little Skinny Terry Ted Bozzio on drums. The succulent yet ever so demure, Edwin Jobson on keyboards and violin. [...] And of course, the queen of rock 'n roll, Ruth Underwood!

 

 

It was 11 o'clock upon a Friday night
You know that her and me was feeling outta' sight
We had twenty reds and a big ol' pile o' weed
You know we drank some wine and then she LSD'd

Well, Chrissy puked twice and jumped on my bike
She yelled, "Fire it up, because you know what I like!"
She burned her leg on a tail-pipe then
And yelled, "Shit-a-ree!," and puked again