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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Tommy Mars (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Jeff (tenor saxophone) Marginal Chagrin (baritone saxophone) Stumuk (bass saxophone) Dale Bozzio (vocals) Al Malkin (vocals) Craig Steward (harmonica) Sometimes when you're not looking he just sneaks up on you. He looks like a cheap sort of flying saucer about five feet across with a snout-like megaphone apparatus in the front with two big eyes mounted like Appletons with miniature motorized frowning chrome eyebrows over them. Along the side of his disc-like body are several sets of stupid-looking headers and exhaust hoses which apparently propel him and punctuate his dialogue with horrible smelling smoke rings. In the middle of his head we can see an airport wind sock and constantly twirling anemometer. The bottom of him has a landing light and three spoked wheels. In spite of all this, it is obvious that the way he really gets around is by being dangled from place to place by a union guy with a dark green shirt up in the roof who is eating a sandwich (pieces of which drop off every once in a while and lodge themselves near the hole where they put the oil in that makes the cheap smoke). He hovers into view and speaks to us thusly... Central Scrutinizer: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...it is my responsibility to enforce all the laws that haven't been passed yet. It is also my responsibility to alert each and every one of you to the potential consequences of various ordinary everyday activities you might be performing which could eventually lead to *The Death Penalty* (or affect your parents' credit rating). Our criminal institutions are full of little creeps like you who do wrong things...and many of them were driven to these crimes by a horrible force called MUSIC! Our studies have shown that this horrible force is so dangerous to society at large that laws are being drawn up at this very moment to stop it forever! Cruel and inhuman punishments are being carefully described in tiny paragraphs so they won't conflict with the Constitution (which, itself, is being modified in order to accommodate THE FUTURE). I bring you now a special presentation to show what can happen to you if you choose a career in MUSIC...The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only...if you have to load or unload, go to the WHITE ZONE... you'll love it...it's a way of life...Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha...Hi, it's me, I'm back. This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only...If yah gotta load, or if yah gotta unload, go to the WHITE ZONE. You'll love it...it's a way of life. That's right, you'll love it, it's a way of life, that's right, you'll love it, it's a way of life, you'll love it. This, is, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER! |
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Act I
SCENE TWO JOE'S GARAGE A boring old garage in a residential area with a teenage band rehearsing in it. JOE (the main character in the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER'S Special Presentation) sings to us of the trials and tribulations of garage- band husbandry. CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER: We take you now to a garage in Canoga Park. JOE: It wasn't very large There was just enough room to cram the drums In the corner over by the Dodge It was a fifty-four With a mashed up door And a cheesy little amp With a sign on the front said "Fender Champ" And a second-hand guitar It was a Stratocaster with a whammy bar At this point, LARRY (a guy who will eventually give up music and earn a respectable living as a roadie for a group called Toad-O) joins in the song... LARRY: We could jam in Joe's Garage His mama was screamin' His dad was mad We was playin' the same old song In the afternoon 'n' sometimes we would Play it all night long It was all we knew, 'n' easy too So we wouldn't get it wrong All we did was bend the string like... Hey! Down in Joe's Garage We didn't have no dope or LSD But a coupla quartsa beer Would fix it so the intonation Would not offend yer ear And the same old chords goin' over 'n' over Became a symphony We would play it again 'n' again 'n' again 'Cause it sounded good to me ONE MORE TIME! We could jam in Joe's Garage His mama was screamin', "TURN IT DOWN!" We was playin' the same old song In the afternoon 'n' sometimes we would Play it all night long It was all we knew, and easy too So we wouldn't get it wrong Even if you played it on a saxophone We thought we was pretty good We talked about keepin' the band together 'N' we figured that we should 'Cause about this time we was gettin' the eye From the girls in the neighborhood They'd all come over 'n' dance around like... Twenty teen-age girls dash in and go STOMP-CLAP, STOMP-CLAP-CLAP... So we picked out a stupid name Had some cards printed up for a coupla bucks 'N' we was on our way to fame Got matching suits 'N' Beatle Boots 'N' a sign on the back of the car 'N' we was ready to work in a GO-GO Bar ONE TWO THREE FOUR LET'S SEE IF YOU GOT SOME MORE! People seemed to like our song They got up 'n' danced 'n made a lotta noise An' it wasn't 'fore very long A guy from a company we can't name Said we oughta take his pen 'N' sign on the line for a real good time But he didn't tell us when These "good times" would be somethin' That was really happenin' So the band broke up An' it looks like We will never play again... JOE: Guess you only get one chance in life To play a song that goes like... And, as the band plays their little song, MRS. BORG (who keeps her son, SY, in the closet with the vacuum cleaner) screams out the window... MRS. BORG: Turn it down! Turn it DOWN! I have children sleeping here... Don't you boys know any nice songs? JOE: (Speculating on the future) Well the years was rollin' by Heavy Metal 'n Glitter Rock Had caught the public eye Snotty boys with lipstick on Was really flyin' high 'N' then they got that Disco thing 'N' New Wave came along 'N' all of a sudden I thought the time Had come for that old song We used to play in "Joe's Garage" And if I am not wrong You will soon be dancin' to... CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER: The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only. If you gotta load or unload, go to the WHITE ZONE. You'll love it... JOE: Well the years was rollin' by (etc.)... MRS. BORG: I'm calling THE POLICE! There! I did it! They'll be here...shortly! OFFICER BUTZIS: This is the police... MRS. BORG: I'm not joking around anymore OFFICER BUTZIS: We have the garage surrounded If you give yourself up We will not harm you Or hurt you neither MRS. BORG: You'll see them OFFICER BUTZIS: This is the police MRS. BORG: There they are, they're coming! OFFICER BUTZIS: Give yourself up We will not harm you MRS. BORG: Listen to that mess, would you? OFFICER BUTZIS: This is the police Give yourself up We have the garage surrounded MRS. BORG: Everday this goes on around here! OFFICER BUTZIS: We will not harm you, or maim you (swat team 4, move in!) MRS. BORG: He used to cut my grass... He was a very nice boy... CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... That was Joe's first confrontation with The Law. Naturally, we were easy on him. One of our friendly counselors gave him A do-nut... and told him to Stick closer to church-oriented social activities. |
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Act I
SCENE THREE CATHOLIC GIRLS A festive CYO party with crepe paper streamers, contestants for the broom dance, the "hokey cokey", baked goods, & FATHER RILEY making sure the lights don't go down too low... Father Riley And Various Party Goers: (Well) Catholic Girls With a tiny little mustache Catholic Girls Do you know how they go? Catholic Girls In the Rectory Basement Father Riley's a fairy But it don't bother Mary Catholic Girls At the CYO Catholic Girls Do you know how they go? Catholic Girls There can be no replacement How do they go, after the show? Joe: All the way (That's right, all the way!) That's the way they go Every day (That's right!) And none of their mamas ever seem to know Hip-Hip-Hooray For all the class they show There's nothing like a Catholic Girl At the CYO When they learn to blow . . . Father Riley: They're learning to blow All the Catholic Boys! Mary: Warren Cuccurullo . . . Father Riley: Catholic Boys! Mary: Kinda young, kinda WOW! Father Riley: Catholic Boys! Mary: Vinnie Colaiuta . . . Chorus: Where are they now? Did they all take The Vow? Father Riley: Catholic Girls! Warren: Carmenita Scarfone! Father Riley: Catholic Girls! Officer Butzis: Hey! She gave me VD! Father Riley: Catholic Girls! Warren: Toni Carbone! Chorus: With a tongue like a cow She could make you go WOW! Joe: VD Vowdy vootie Right away That's the way they go Every day Whenever their mamas take them to a show Matinee Pass the popcorn please There's nothing like a Catholic Girl With her hand in the box When she's on her knees Larry: She was on her knees My little Catholic Girl Chorus: In a little white dress Catholic Girls They never confess Catholic Girls I got one for a cousin I love how they go So send me a dozen Catholic Girls OOOOOOH! (Well well now) Catholic Girls (Ma-ma-mum ma-ma-mum) Yai-ee-ahhh! Catholic Girls OOOOOOH! (Well well now) Catholic Girls (Ma-ma-mum ma-ma-ma-ma-mum) Yai-ee-ahhh! Joe had a girl friend named Mary. They would meet each other at the Social Club. Hold hands And think Pure Thoughts But one night, at the Social Club meeting... |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Tommy Mars (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Jeff (tenor saxophone) Marginal Chagrin (baritone saxophone) Stumuk (bass saxophone) Dale Bozzio (vocals) Al Malkin (vocals) Craig Steward (harmonica) Central Scrutinizer: But one night, at the Social Club meeting Mary didn't show up . . . She was sucking cock backstage at The Armory In order to get a pass To see some big rock group for free . . . Backstage at the local Armory, Mary, in her little white dress, is wiping the remnants of her performance off the side of her mouth as LARRY (the guy from the garage who quit the band in order to make an honest living) zips up the front of his stinking boiler suit and sings to the same teen-age girls who were stomping and clapping a little while ago, as they kneel with their little pink mouths open near the crew bus, hoping to save the price of admission by performing acts of Hooverism on the jolly lads who set up the P.A. System. Larry: Hey Hey Hey all you girls in these Industrial towns I know you're prob'ly gettin' tired Of all the local clowns They never give you no respect They never treat you nice So perhaps you oughta try A little friendly advice And be a CREW SLUT Hey, you'll love it Be a CREW SLUT It's a way of life Be a CREW SLUT See the world Don't make a fuss, just get on the bus CREW SLUT Add water makes its own sauce Be a CREW SLUT So you don't forget, call before midnite tonite The boys in the crew Are just waiting for you You never to get move around You never go nowhere I know yer prob'ly gettin' tired Of all the guys out there You always wondered what it's like To go from place to place So, darlin', take a little ride On the mixer's face Be a CREW SLUT Just follow the magic footprints Be a CREW SLUT Hey, you'll love it! Be a CREW SLUT It's a way of life I ain't gonna squash it And you don't need to wash it! CREW SLUT Hey, I'll buy you a pizza CREW SLUT Of course I'll introduce you to Warren The boys in the crew Are only waiting for you At this point, the road crew, as all road crews must from time to time, borrow some of the big rock group's equipment and have a blues jam session, indicating to the kneeling maidens that they are endowed with a great deal of raw talent, as well as massive meat. Obviously impressed with LARRY'S ability to suck so hard on his harmonica that screeching little noises come out of it, MARY kneels again and reaches upward in gestures of supplication, listening intently as LARRY continues to sing... Larry: Well you been to Alabama, girl, 'N' Georgia too 'N' all the boys in the crew Is bein' good to you I know yer sayin' to yourself 'This is the way to go' 'Cause when you need a little extra They will give you some mo' 'Cause you're the CREW SLUT Mary: Eh, hah ha, I'm into leather... Larry: That's good! A lot of the boys in the crew Love leather... Mary: And rubber... Larry: Yeh, they like rubber too...shrink-tubing With a hair dryer... Road Crew Chorus: Trade your spot on the bench For a guy with a wrench And be a... Mary: Ha ha ha... Larry: You like that, huh? I told you you'd love it... It's a way of life! Road Crew Chorus: The guys in the crew Have got a present for you! Ren nah naaah Ren nah naaah Ren nah naaah Mary: A present for me? Road Crew Chorus: Ren nah naaah Ren nah naaah Ren nah naaah Larry: Hmmm, we got a present for you! Road Crew Chorus: Ren nah naaah Ren nah naaah Ren nah naaah Mary: Whaddya got? Road Crew Chorus: Ren nah naaah Mary: Whaddya gonna give me? Road Crew Chorus: Ren nah naaah Ren nah naaah Larry: It looks just like a Telefunken U-47 You'll love it... Mary: With Leather? Central Scrutinizer: Eh errr, eh eh...This is,eh, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER again... And so Mary was enticed away from Joe By an evil barbarian with a wrench in his pocket Lured into a life of SLEAZERY With the entire road crew of some Famous Rock Group (I don't know whether it was really Toad-O or not ...I don't know... I'll check it out) Again we see MUSIC Causing BIG TROUBLE! |
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Act I
SCENE FIVE THE WET T-SHIRT CONTEST After a few weeks on the bus, being porked by Toad-O's road crew, and being too exhausted to do their laundry on a regular basis, MARY is dumped in Miami. With no money (and no other famous rock groups due into the area for at least three weeks), she tries to pick up a few bucks by entering the Wet T-Shirt contest at The Brasserie... IKE: Looks to me like something funny Is going on around here People laughin' 'n' dancin' 'n' payin' Entirely too much for their beer And they all think they are Clean outa-site And they're ready to party "Cause the sign outside says it's WET T-SHIRT NITE 'N' they all crave some Hot delight Well the girls are excited Because in a minute They're gonna get wet 'N' the boys are delighted Because all the titties Will get 'em upset 'N' they all think they are Reety-awright 'N' they're ready to boogie 'Cause the sign outside says it's WET T-SHIRT NITE 'N' they all crave some Pink delight When the water gets on'em Their ninnies get rigid 'N' look pretty bold It's a common reaction That makes an attraction Whenever it's cold 'N'all of the fellas They wish they could bite On the cute little nuggets The local girls are showin' off tonite You know I think it serves 'em right You know I think it serves 'em right You know I think it serves 'em right You know I think it serves 'em right And it's WET T-SHIRT TIME AGAIN I know you want someone to show you some tit! BIG ONES! WET ONES! BIG WET ONES! At this point, FATHER RILEY (who had been recently de-frocked for not meeting his quota, and has grown his hair out and bought a groovy sport coat and moved to Miami and changed his name to BUDDY JONES) steps onto the crowded bandstand in his exciting new role as a WET T-SHIRT CONTEST EMCEE... BUDDY JONES: Ah, thanks, IKE... Yes, it's WET T-SHIRT TIME AGAIN Here at The Brasserie... Home of THE TITS... huh huh... And it's the charming Mary from Canoga Park Up next in her bid for the semi-finals... Hi,Mary...howya doin? Having been fucked senseless by the boys in the crew, MARY does not recognize the former religious personage from her nights in the rectory basement during which she acquired her basic manual skills… confounded by his sport coat, she replies... MARY: Hi! Realizing that she no longer recognizes him... or even appreciates the patient religious training he had given her in the past, BUDDY JONES, like a true WET T-SHIRT EMCEE type person, proceeds to say various stupid things to waste time, making the contest itself take longer, thereby giving the mongoloids squatting on the dance floor an opportunity to buy more exciting beverages. . . liquid products that will expand their consciousnesses to the point whereby they might more fully enjoy the ambiance of Miami By Night... BUDDY JONES: Where ya from? MARY: Ah, the bus... BUDDY JONES: Which one? MARY: You know...the last tour... You know... Leather BUDDY JONES: Oh.. .you were the girl that was stuck to seat 38 on Phydeaux III... why don't you get in position now and take a deep breath, because this water is very, very cold, but it's goin' to be so stimulating. And Mary's the kind of Red-Blooded American Girl who'll do anything... MARY: Anything... BUDDY JONES: I said anything... for fifty bucks That's right! MARY: I really need the fifty bucks you know I gotta get home! BUDDY JONES: Yeh, I know, your father is waiting for you in the tool shed... that's right,you heard right... our big prize tonight is fifty American Dollars to the girl with the most exciting mammalian protruberances... MARY: Here I am! BUDDY JONES: ... as viewed through a thoroughly soaked, stupid looking white sort of male person's conservative kind of middle-of-the-road COTTON UNDER-GARMENT! Whoopee! And here comes THE WATER! MARY: EEEK! BUDDY JONES: No, you'd squeak more if the water got on you ...sounds like you just got an ice pick in the forehead... AND HERE COMES THE ICE PICK IN THE FOREHEAD... a million laughs, Mary! Anyway; good golly, what a mess...she's totally soaked.. totally committed to the fifty bucks.. .That's it just step into the spotlight.. let the guys get a good look at ya honey! MARY: Here I am! BUDDY JONES: Whaddya say, fellas? Nice setta jugs? Now Mary, how's about shakin' it around a little... BUDDY JONES: Oh my goodness, look at her go! MARY: Oooh! I'm dancing! I'm dancing! BUDDY JONES: Ain't this what living is really all about! Here's your fifty bucks, Mary... MARY: Oh great! Now I can go home! BUDDY JONES: Home is where the heart is. MARY: On the bus. |
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Act I
SCENE SIX Toad-O Line Whereupon the house combo at the Brasserie drifts into a modified version of one of Toad-O's big hit numbers. BUDDY JONES stares longingly at the little nozzles pooching out of MARY'S moistened upper clothing, but it's too late...WARREN, one of the other guys from Joe's Garage Band has already recognized her (he's now one of the foremost disco-fusion rhythm guitar players on the WetT-Shirt Circuit, currently providing exciting strummery here in Miami), and is in the process of getting the details of her life on the bus with LARRY and the other jolly road crew lads. He eventually sends JOE a letter with this information in it... CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Meanwhile, Joe hears about Mary's naughty exploits. He falls in with a fast crowd and gets seduced by a girl who works at the Jack-In-The-Box, named Lucille, who gives him an unpronounceable disease... |
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Act I
SCENE SEVEN WHY DOES IT HURT WHEN I PEE? Shortly after his liaison with the taco stand lady, joe makes a horrible discovery... Joe: Why does it hurt when i pee? Why does it hurt when i pee? I don't want no doctor To stick no needle in me Why does it hurt when i pee? I got it from the toilet seat I got it from the toilet seat It jumped right up 'n' grabbed my meat Got it from the toilet seat ARRGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!OOOOO!! My balls feel like a pair of maracas (Rattle) My balls feel like a pair of maracas Oh god i probably got the Gon-o-ka-ka-khackus! My balls feel like a pair of maracas Ai-eee-ai-eee-ahhhh! Why does it Why does it Why does it Why does it hurt...when I Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee? |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Tommy Mars (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Jeff (tenor saxophone) Marginal Chagrin (baritone saxophone) Stumuk (bass saxophone) Dale Bozzio (vocals) Al Malkin (vocals) Craig Steward (harmonica) JOE is so disoriented by his disease, he goes in the other room and plays the title cut from an old Jeff Simmons album, and sings along with it. Joe: Lucille Has messed my mind up But I still love her Oh I still love her Lucille Has messed my mind up But I still love her Oh I still love her Lucille Has messed my mind up But I still need her You know I need her Whatcha tryna doota me Lucille? Whatcha tryna doota me Lucille? Whatcha tryna doota me Lucille? You got me goin' outa my mind Lucille Has tore my heart up But I still love her I really love her Lucille Has tore my heart up But I still need her You know I need her She treats me like my heart Is made of stone She runs around And leaves me home All alone She doesn't answer When I call her on the phone She messed up my mind I'm crying alla the time Lucille Has messed my mind up But I still love her I really love her Lucille Has tore my heart up But I still need her I really need her Lucille My mind up I love her I really love her Lucille My heart up But I still love her I really love her Lucille My mind up I love her I really love her Lucille My heart up I really need her I really really need her Lucille My mind up I really love her I really really love her Lucille My heart up I really love her I really love her Lucille My mind up But I still love her I really really love her Lucille My mind up I really need her I really really need her Lucille Has tore my heart up I really love her I really really love her Lucille My mind up I really love her I really love her |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Arriving at L. Ron Hoover's modernistic office / cathedral / warehouse / condominium complex, Joe is greeted by a pre-recorded message and a dramatically illuminated image on a wall-sized TV screen... L. Ron Hoover: Welcome to the First Church of Appliantology! The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only! Don't you be Tarot-fied It's just a token of my extreme Don't you be Tarot-fied It's just a token of my extreme Don't you never try to look behind my eyes You don't wanna know what they have seen Don't you never try to look behind my eyes You don't wanna know what they have seen Joe: (thinking to himself) Some people think That if they go too far They'll never get back To where the rest of them are I might be crazy But there's one thing I know You might be surprised At what you find when ya go! And thus, having rationalized his expedition to L. Ron's modernistic office / cathedral / warehouse / condominium complex, JOE seeks The Answer to his problem... Joe: Oh oh oh Mystical Advisor What is my problem, tell me Can you see? L. Ron Hoover: Well, you have nothing to fear, my son! You are a Latent Appliance Fetishist, It appears to me! Joe: That all seems very, very strange I never craved a toaster Or a color T.V. L. Ron Hoover: A Latent Appliance Fetishist Is a person who refuses to admit to his or herself That sexual gratification can only be achieved Through the use of MACHINES... Get the picture? Joe: Are you telling me I should come out of the closet now Mr. Ron? L. Ron Hoover: No, my son! You must go into THE CLOSET Joe: What? L. Ron Hoover: And you will have Joe: Heh? L. Ron Hoover: Hey! A lot of fun! That's where they all live So if you want an Appliance to love you You'll have to go in there 'N' get you one Joe: Well...that seems simple enough... L. Ron Hoover: Yes, but if you want a really GOOD one, You'll have to learn a foreign language... Joe: German, for instance? L. Ron Hoover: That's right... A lot of really cute ones come from over there! (Fifty bucks, please) And a cheerful group of Appliantologists dance into the room wearing aluminum foil lab smocks, lock arms in a circle around JOE, making sure he pays in full, all the while singing with L. RON as he delivers his final instructions... L. Ron Hoover: If you been Mod-O-fied, It's an illusion, an you're in between Don't you be Tarot-fied, It's just a lot of nothin', So what can it mean? If you been Mod-O-fied, It's an illusion, an yer in between Don't you be Tarot-fied, It's just a lot of nothin', So what can it mean? If you been Mod-O-fied, It's an illusion, an yer in between... JOE leaves the First Church of Appliantology and sets out to try L. RON's expensive advice CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Joe has just learned to speak German Now, get this, heres why he did it! He's gonna go to this club on the other side of town, it's called THE CLOSET... And they got these Appliances in there that really go for a guy dressed up like a housewife who can speak German (you know what I mean)... so Joe's learned how to speak German, he goes in this place and he sees these little Kitchen Machineries dancing around with each other, and he sees this one...that looks like it's a cross between an industrial vacuum cleaner and a chrome piggy bank with marital aids stuck all over its body... it's really exciting...and when he sees it, he BURSTS INTO SONG... |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Joe: Fick mich, du miserabler hurensohn Du miserabler hurensohn Fick mich, du miserabler hurensohn Streck ihn aus Streck aus deinem heißen gelockten Streck ihn aus Streck aus deinem heißen gelockten Streck ihn aus Streck aus deinem heißen gelockten schwanz Ah-ee-ahee-ahhhhh! Mach es sehr schnell Rein und raus Magisches Schwein Mach es sehr schnell Rein und raus Magisches Schwein Bis es spritzt, spritzt, spritzt, spritzt Feuer! Bis es spritzt, spritzt, spritzt, spritzt Feuer! Aber beklecker nicht das Sofa, Sofa! Aber beklecker nicht das Sofa, Sofa! Aber beklecker nicht das Sofa, Sofa! Aber beklecker nicht das Sofa, Sofa! Stunned by JOE's command of it's native tongue, a gleaming model XQJ-37 nuclear powered Pan-Sexual Roto-Plooker named SY BORG (previously thought to be the son of the lady who called the Police on cut two, side I), spindles over to JOE and says... Sy Borg: Pick me...I'm clean... I am also programmed for conversational English. This stuns JOE, who stands there speechless for a moment. Smitten by JOE's animal magnetism, SY continues... Sy Borg: May I have this dance? And JOE, looking sharp in his housewife costume with the napkin on his head and the yellow chiffon apron, responds boldly by repeat- ing the entreaty originally delivered in Deutsch in its conversational English form, so that his intentions re- garding the Appliance will be made perfectly clear... Joe: I've got a better idea... Fuck me, you ugly son of a bitch You ugly son of a bitch Fuck me, you ugly son of a bitch Stick it out Stick out yer hot curly weenie Stick it out Stick out yer hot curly weenie Stick it out Stick out yer hot curly weenie Weenie...weenie, weenie, weenie! Make it go fast In and out, (In and out) Magical Pig Make it go fast In and out, (In and out) Magical Pig Till it squirts, squirts, squirts, squirts Fire Till it squirts, squirts, squirts, squirts Fire Don't get no jizz upon that sofa, sofa Don't get no jizz upon that sofa, sofa Don't get no jizz upon that sofa, sofa Don't get no jizz upon that sofa, sofa Whereupon, in order to prove to JOE that he is no ordinary Appliance, SY quotes a few lines of traditional American Love Poetry... Sy Borg: What's a girl like you Doing in a place like this? Do you come here often? Wait a minute... I've got it... You're an Italian... What? You're Jewish? Love your nails... You must be a Libra... Your place or mine? Your place or mine? Your place or mine? Your place or mine? See the chrome Feel the chrome Touch the chrome Heal the chrome See the screaming Hot black steaming Iridescent naugahyde python screaming Steam Roller! CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER. Joe and his date an going back to the apartment to have a little party... |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Central Scrutinizer: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Joe and his date are going back to the apartment to have a little party... Joe: Sy Borg Gimme dat, gimme dat Sy Borg Gimme dat, give me de chromium leg, I beg Sy Borg Gimme dat, gimme dat Sy Borg Gimme dat, give me de chromium leg, Little wires, pliers, tires They turn me on Maybe I'm crazy Maybe I'm crazy Maybe I'm crazy, mon... Stroking several of SY's gleaming appendages, JOE continues... Gee, Sy This is a real groovy apartment You've got here Sy Borg: All government sponsored recreational services are clean and efficient Joe: This is exciting I never plooked A tiny chrome-plated machine That looks like a magical pig With marital aids stuck all over it Such as yourself before Sy Borg: You'll love it! It's a way of life. Joe: Does that mean maybe later You'll plook me... Sy Borg: If you wish, we may have a groovy orgy Joe: Just me and you? Sy Borg: I share this apartment With a modified Gay Bob doll He goes all the way... Ever try oral sex with a miniature rubberized homo-replica? Joe: No, ah, not yet, Ah, is this him? Sy Borg: This is him. Your wish is his command He likes you He wants to kiss you always Just tell him what you want Joe: Really? Hi, little guy Think I might get a tiny, but exciting Blow...job... Gimme dat, gimme dat Blow job... Gimme dat, give me de chromium cob. Sy Borg: Bend over. Joe: Gay Bob Blow job Gimme dat, gimme dat Blow job Gimme dat, give me de chromium cob Sy Borg: You'll love it! It looks just like a TeleFunken U-47. Joe: Little leather cap and trousers They look so gay.. Warren just bought some Warren just bought some Warren just bought some Hey... Sy Borg: Bob is tired. Plook me now, You savage rascal Ehhh! That tickles. You are a fun person I like you. I want to kiss you always. Joe: Gee, this is great How's about some bondage and humiliation Sy Borg: Anything you say, master. Joe: Oh no, I don't believe it You're way more fun than Mary... Sy Borg: You're plooking too hard... Joe: And cleaner than Lucille... Sy Borg: Plooking on me... Joe: What have I been missing All these years? Sy Borg: Too hard Joe: Sy... Sy Borg: Too hard Joe: Sy... Sy Borg: Plooking too hard on me-e-e-e-e... Joe: Speak to me Oh no... The golden shower must have shorted out His master circuit He's, he's, oh my God I must have plooked him... Hey To death... Hey Central Scrutinizer: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... You have just destroyed one model XQJ-37 Nuclear Powered Pan- Sexual Roto-Plooker And you're gonna have to pay for it! So give up, you haven't got a chance. Joe: But I... I, I, I, I, I... I can't pay I gave all my money To some kinda groovy religious guy... Two songs ago... Central Scrutinizer: Come on out son... Between the two of us We'll find a way to Work it out |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Central Scrutinizer: Hello there...this is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Joe was sent to a special prison where they keep all the other criminals from the music business...you know...the ones who get caught...it's a horrible place, painted all green on the inside, where musicians and former executives take turns snorting detergent and plooking each other... (As the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER chuckles to himself for a moment, FATHER RILEY, who became BUDDY JONES, steps into view in his new identity: FATHER RILEY B. JONES, Prison Chaplain, who, in a rather heavy-handed piece of imagery, is now entrusted with the job of singing this song as he assists the captured executives in their quest for new meat to plook, and, once having found these victims for the princes of the industry, trades them little blobs of sanctified lubricant jelly for cigarettes and candy bars while he holds them down so the execs won't have to work too hard when they stick it in.) ...Anyway, listen, while he's in there he meets this guy who used to be a promo man for a major record company, named Bald-Headed John... King of the Plookers... Father Riley B. Jones: This is the story 'bout Bald-Headed John Former Execs: Dong work for Yuda, Dong, Dong Father Riley B. Jones: He talks a lot 'n' it's usually wrong Former Execs: Dong work for Yuda, Dong, Dong Father Riley B. Jones: He said Dong was Wong, 'N Wong was Kong 'N Dong work for Yuda, 'N John was wrong Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Dong work for Yuda Dong, Dong Sorry John Sorry better Try it again He said Dong was Wong And Wong was Kong And Dong was Gong 'N John was wrong Father Riley B. Jones: John's got a sausage Yeh man John's got a sausage Yeh man 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" Former Execs: 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 Wong was Kong Kong was Gong 'N John was wrong Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: Make way for the iron shaschige Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: I need a dozen towels so the boys can take a shower Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: Bartender, bring me a colada and milk Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: Well, on second thought, make that a water... HtO Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: Falcum... Take me to the falcum! Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: I wave my bags Did you wave your'n Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: Well how much did they wave? Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: Ah'm almost two kilometers tall Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: This girl must be praketing richcraft Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Bald-Headed John: Don't worry about the faggot I'll take care of the faggot Former Execs: Sorry John Sorry better Try it again Try it again, Try it again Try, try, try again... etc., etc., etc. Bald-Headed John: Your Pomona is very extinct... Yeah, I studied with the Dong of Tokyo 'N also with the oriental Kato... My body contain uh water I just loves the way these Copenhagens talks! Driver, McDoodle... Sausage Salima Salami That looks like that stuff that Freckles lets out Once a mumfth... Eventually FATHER RILEY B. JONES gets around to JOE wrth his little case of pre-blessed unguents... CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Poor Joe. Hes getting tired of bending over... but we tried to warn him...didn't we? Okay, Joe...you asked for it... here comes The Big One... |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar)
Ike Willis (guitar, vocals) Ray White (guitar, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, saxophone, vocals) Alan Zavod (keyboards) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) Act II SCENE FOURTEEN OUTSIDE NOW JOE: (somewhat exhausted) These executives have plooked the fuck out of me And there's still a long time to go before I've Paid my debt to society And all I ever really wanted to do was Play the guitar 'n bend the string like Reent-toont-teent-toont-teenooneenoonee I've got it I'll be sullen and withdrawn I'll dwindle off into the twilight realm Of my own secret thoughts I'll lay on my back here 'til dawn In a semi-catatonic state And dream of guitar notes That would irritate An executive kinda guy... And sure enough JOE dreams up a few of those guitar notes that every executive despises...those low ones...every exec knows it's only the records with the high squeally ones that get to be hits (except for Duane Eddy)... Well, I guess that one did the trick If they only coulda heard it Half-a-dozen of em woulda strangled While they was suckin on each others' dick But that was just a bunch of imaginary Notes I played Just a little extra somethin' To keep me goin from day to day That's okay I'll be gettin outta here pretty soon Then I won't have to live In this ugly fuckin room Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Can't wait to see I can't wait to see what it's like On the outside now . . . Outside now . . . And JOE just lays there, dreaming imaginary guitar notes for years on end, until finally they let him out... |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Joe: (to himself as he walks out of prison) I'm out at last Boy, the world sure looks different Wow...there's hardly anything fun to do Since they made music illegal But I'm hooked I got the habit I've got to have it I need to play But there's no musicians anymore They're all gone Wait! I've got it! I'll be sullen and withdrawn I'll dwindle off into the twilight realm Of my own secret thoughts I'll walk through the parking lot In a semi- catatonic state And dream of guitar notes To go with the loading-zone announcements. JOE wanders through the world which by then has been totally epoxied over, carefully organized, with everyone reporting daily to his or her appointed place in a line somewhere in front of a window somewhere in a building somewhere in order to collect his or her welfare check, which, when cashed, made it possible for the young ones to continue the payments for the obsolete and irreparable appliances their parents had purchased on the instalment plan years ago, providing as security the future incomes of their children. The rest of these checks were used by the young recipients to buy fun things of their own on credit, most of which broke down or failed within moments of purchase and seemed to be stacking up everywhere. Central Scrutinizer: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER The White Zone is for loading and unloading only. If you have to load or unload, go to the White Zone. You'll love it. It's a way of life. This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER The White Zone is for loading and unloading only. If you have to load or unload, go to the White Zone. You'll love it. It's a way of life. This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER The White Zone is for loading and unloading only. If you have to load or unload... As JOE stumbles over mounds of dead consumer goods formed into abstract statues dedicated to the Quality of American Craftsmanship, dreaming his stupid little guitar notes, he hears, somewhere in the back of his head, the voice of MRS. BORG, taunting him: Mrs. Borg's Voice: Turn it down! Turn it down! I have children sleeping here! Don't you boys know any nice songs? I'm calling the police! I did it! They'll be here... shortly! I'm not joking around anymore! You'll see now! There they are... they're coming! Listen to that mess, would you! Every day this goes on around here! He used to cut my grass... He was a very nice boy... He used to cut my grass... He was a very nice boy... He used to cut my grass... He was a very nice boy... He used to cut my grass... He was a very nice boy... Central Scrutinizer: This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Yes...he used to be a nice boy...He used to cut the grass...But now his mind is totally destroyed by music. He's so crazy now he even believes that people are writing articles and reviews about his imaginary guitar notes, and so, continuing to dwindle in the twilight realm of his own secret thoughts, he not only dreams imaginary guitar notes, but, to make matters worse, dreams imaginary vocal parts to a song about the imaginary journalistic profession... |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (lead vocals) Peter Wolf (keyboards) Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) Joe: (clutching the hood ornament of an ancient car) Maybe you thought I was the Packard Goose Or the Ronald MacDonald of the nouveau-abstruse Well fuck all them people, I don't need no excuse For being what I am Do you hear me, then? All them rock 'n roll writers is the worst kind of sleaze Selling punk like some new kind of English disease Is that the wave of the future? Aw, spare me please! Oh no, you gotta go Who do you write for? I wanna know I believe you is the government's whore And keeping peoples dumb is where you're coming from And keeping peoples dumb is where you're coming from Fuck all them writers with the pen in their hand I will be more specific so they might understand They can all kiss my ass But because it's so grand They'd best just stay away Hey, hey, hey Hey, Joe, who did you blow? Moe pushed the button boy And you went to the show Better suck a little harder or the shekels won't flow And I don't mean your thumb So on your knees you bum Just tell yourself it's yum And suck it 'till you're numb Journalism's kinda scary And of it we should be wary Wonder what became of Mary? And no sooner has he wondered, a vision of Mary appears to him, delivering a little lecture... Voice Of Mary's Vision: Hi! It's me... the girl from the bus... Remember? The last tour? Well... Information is not knowledge Knowledge is not wisdom Wisdom is not truth Truth is not beauty Beauty is not love Love is not music Music is THE BEST... Wisdom is the domain of the Wis (which is extinct). Beauty is a French phonetic corruption Of a short cloth neck ornament Currently in resurgence... And no sooner has she spoken (which is awkward and probably incorrect but what the fuck), enormous flabby short cloth neck ornaments obscure the horizon in a multitude, beating their ugly wings and working their hidden chrome snap attachments as they resurge in the direction of the White Zone seeking snack material near the Utensil Shrines of Greater America... Joe: If you're in the audience and like what we do Well, we want you to know that we like you all too But as for the sucker who will write the review If his mind is prehensile (His mind is prehensile) He'll put down his pencil (He'll put down his pencil) And have himself a squat On the Cosmic Utensil (Cosmic Utensil) Go give it all you got On the Cosmic Utensil (Cosmic Utensil) Sit 'n spin until you rot On the Cosmic Utensil (Cosmic Utensil) He really needs to squat On the Cosmic Utensil (Cosmic Utensil Cosmic Utensil) Now that I got that over with I'll just play my imaginary guitar again Hey... soundin' pretty good! Hey...get down, me... Boy, what an imagination! Love myself better than I love myself... I think... What tone! Sounds like an Elegant Gypsy! What is that? Musk? It's hip! |
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Act III
(after the song ends) This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... As you can see, MUSIC can get you pretty fucked up...Take a tip from Joe, do like he did, hock your imaginary guitar and get a good job...Joe did, and he's a happy guy now, on the day shift at the Utility Muffin Research Kitchen, arrogantly twisting the sterile canvas snoot of a fully-charged icing anointment utensil. And every time a nice little muffin comes by on the belt, he poots forth... And if this doesn't convince you that MUSIC causes BIG TROUBLE...then maybe I should turn off my plastic' megaphone and sing the last song on the album in my regular voice... SCENE EIGHTEEN A LITTLE GREEN ROSETTA CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER: A little green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta You'll make a muffin betta With a green rosetta A little green rosetta A tiny green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta You'll make a muffin betta Betta It's really getting betta It's betta, it's betta With a green rosetta Green rositti A little green rositti It's really, really meaty A little green rositti Betta, betta, (Hey, really out there...really good) It's really getting betta It's betta, it's betta With a green rosetta Setta, setta (Good God, give the drummer some) Green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta (Setta, setta, setta, etc....) (Make a muffin, make a muffin, make a muffin, Make a muffin betta, make a muffin betta, etc....) With a green rosetta A little green rosetta (Etc....) Good God! You're really jammin ! Now the Reggae version, hey, for the People in the Third World... we haven't forgotten anybody on this song.. .for all of you French people...who think that you re outta sight... And for the people in Spain...who think the French people are where its at... And for the people in Mongolia who always wanted to go to Spain for a vacation... And for those of you in Taiwan who got chumped, this chorus is for you: (Rang Tang Ding Dong, I am the Japanese Sandman... Take eight...) Green rosetta Green rosetta A little green rosetta (Against the Reggae beat, though... No, it's still Reggae, but it s all backwards) A little green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta You'll make a muffin betta (Etc., etc., etc...) Now you see, some places in the Third World it might be difficult to dance to this because the kerosene record player is not a very efficient device.. .And a lot of times they run out of, they run out of spunk right in the middle of the chorus... Causing the song to sound like this... A little green rosetta However we continue in spite of the fact that the fuel may be low on your record player. We suggest that in places like the Fourth World where things are really tough that you keep the record player going by rubbing two sticks together. And if all else fails, throw the record away... build your own green rosetta...try this recipe: Well start with a lump of grass... the grass bone connected to the ankle bone...the knee bone connected to the wishbone...and then everybody moves to New York and goes to a party with Warren. Hey! And we've flown in, at great expense, (triple scale, no less, ladies and gentlemen), Steve Gad's clone to play the out-chorus on this song...he's really outa-site, in spite of the fact that the click track is totally irrelevant to what he's doing now. I'm listening to the click, yes I'm suffering with the click track right now...this guy is totally out of sync with it, but what the fuck. Ed Mann will call him up later, show him the sign. Okay Vinnie, where is five? They're pretty good musicians They re pretty good musicians They're pretty good musicians They're pretty good musicians But it don't make no difference If they're good musicians Because anybody who would buy this record Doesn't give a fuck if there's good musicians on it Because this is a stupid song AND THAT'S THE WAY I LIKE IT A little green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta A little green rosetta You make a muffin betta With a little green rosetta A little green rosetta Rosetta, rosetta, rosetta (etc., etc., etc....) AL MALKIN. Zetta.. |
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