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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (guitar, vocals) Mike Keneally (guitar, synthesizer, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Walt Fowler (trumpet) Bruce Fowler (trombone) Paul Carman (alto saxophone) Albert Wing (tenor saxophone) Kurt McGettrick (baritone saxophone) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) Eric Buxton (vocals) Elvis has just left the building -- Those are his footprints, right there Elvis has just left the building -- To climb up that heavenly stair He gave away Cadillacs once in a while; Had sex in his underpants, Yes, he had style! Bell-bottom jump-suits? That's them in a pile, But he don't need'em now, 'Cause he's makin' Jesus smile! Elvis has just left the building -- Those are his footprints, right there Elvis has just left the building -- To climb up that heavenly stair The Angels all love him, He brings them relief With droplets of moisture From his handkerchief! Cher'bim 'n ser'phim Whizz over his head -- Jesus, let him come back! We don't want Elvis dead. Elvis has just left the building -- Those are his footprints, right there Elvis has just left the building -- To climb up that heavenly stair So what if he looks like a wart-hog in heat? He knows we all love him -- We'll just watch him eat, So take down the foil From his hotel retreat, And bring back The King For the man in the street! Elvis has just left the building -- Those are his footprints, right there Elvis has just left the building -- To climb up that heavenly stair He's up there with Jesus, in a big purple chair |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (guitar, vocals) Mike Keneally (guitar, synthesizer, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Walt Fowler (trumpet) Bruce Fowler (trombone) Paul Carman (alto saxophone) Albert Wing (tenor saxophone) Kurt McGettrick (baritone saxophone) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) Eric Buxton (vocals) On the Plane of the Baritone Women They talk low 'Bout stuff they know, They sing "Oooh!" And laugh at you Ah-ha-ha-ha-hah! If you can't IF YOU CAN'T Do it too DO IT TOO Ah-ha-ha-ha-hah! They sing "Li-li-li-li!" They sing "Lo-lo-lo-lo!" The man carry purses Wherever they go Junior executives. All in a row, Watch the Baritone Women Do the Baritone show Ah-ha-ha-ha-hah! They sing about wheat; They sing about corn; They sing about places Where women was born They sing about hate! They sing about fear! It seems like they all got A pretty good ear Ah-ha-ha-ha-hah! They sing it in harmony Not often heard With a big ol' cadenza On every long word They keep it as low As they possibly can, And sometimes they walk Like an E-GYP-TIAN Ah-ha-ha-ha-hah! They do choreography Still more unique! They leave their legs open Whenever they speak! They roll their eyes upward. And over again, And slam their legs closed When they sing about mmen! Those Baritone Women! They are not your friend! You will make a mistake If you go there again! |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (guitar, vocals) Mike Keneally (guitar, synthesizer, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Walt Fowler (trumpet) Bruce Fowler (trombone) Paul Carman (alto saxophone) Albert Wing (tenor saxophone) Kurt McGettrick (baritone saxophone) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) Eric Buxton (vocals) You are the girl Somebody invented In a grim little office On Madison Ave. They were specific They made you terrific: Red lips; Blue eyes; Blonde hair; Un-wise -- You're All-American, And, darling, they said so YOU'D TAKE ANY KIND OF PAIN FROM ME, WOULDN'T YOU, BABY? YOU'D TAKE ANY KIND OF PAIN FROM ME, WOULDN'T YOU, BABY? SINCE YOU HAVEN'T GOT A BRAIN, LET ME JUST EXPLAIN: ANY KIND OF PAIN IS NEVER A MAYBE Her head's full of bubbles; Her nose is petite! She looks like she never Gets nothin' to eat! She dines with actors, 'N Wall Street characters: Dull talk; Nice clothes -- See her? She blows -- She's so important 'Cause he gets to do talk shows -- AND SHE'D TAKE ANY KIND OF PAIN FROM ME, WOULDN'T YOU, BOBBY? SHE'D TAKE ANY KIND OF PAIN FROM ME, WOULDN'T YOU, BOBBY? SINCE YOU HAVEN'T GOT A NAME, LET ME JUST EXPLAIN: ANY KIND OF PAIN IS PROBABLY HER HOBBY She has moves up now; She's come a long way -- They give her bunches Of words she can say! When she's in a bold mood, "Confinement Loaf" sounds good -- That's right, She's wrong! Let's end Her song (It seems she's everywhere We just can't escape her -- Is this a miracle of pure evolution? And all the yuppie boys, they dream they will rape her -- She brings the 80's To a thrilling conclusion!) YES, SHE'S EVERY BIT AS TAME AS ME, ISN'T SHE TENDER? YES, SHE'S EVERY BIT AS LAME AS ME, LET US REMEMBER, SHE GETS ONLY HALF THE BLAME ONLY HALF THE BLAME ONLY HALF THE BLAME UNLESS WE EXTEND HER -- |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (guitar, vocals) Mike Keneally (guitar, synthesizer, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Walt Fowler (trumpet) Bruce Fowler (trombone) Paul Carman (alto saxophone) Albert Wing (tenor saxophone) Kurt McGettrick (baritone saxophone) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) Eric Buxton (vocals) The Surgeon General, Doctor Koop S'posed to give you all the poop But when he's with P.M.R.C. The poop he's scoopin' Amazes me C-Span showed him, all dressed up In his phoney Doctor God get-up He looked in the camera and fixed his specs 'N gave a little lecture 'Bout anal sex He says it is not good for us We just can't be promiscuous He's a docter -- he should know It's the work of the Devil, so Girls, don't blow! Don't blow Jimmy, don't blow Bobby Get yourself another hobby (If Jesus practiced medicine I'm sure he'd do it Just like him) Is Doctor Koop a man to trust? It seems at least that Reagan must (But Ron's a trusting sort of guy -- He trusts Ed Meese I wonder why?) The A.M.A. has just got caught For doin' stuff it shouldn't ought All they do is lie and lie Where's Doctor Koop? He's standin' by Surgeon General? What's the deal? Is your epidemic real? Are you leaving something out? Something we can't talk about? A little green monkey over there Kills a million people? That's not fair! Did it really go that way? Did you ask the C.I.A.? Would they take you serious, Or have THEY been Promiscuous |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (guitar, vocals) Mike Keneally (guitar, synthesizer, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Walt Fowler (trumpet) Bruce Fowler (trombone) Paul Carman (alto saxophone) Albert Wing (tenor saxophone) Kurt McGettrick (baritone saxophone) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) Eric Buxton (vocals) Monologue by Ike Willis Rico! Youngblood! Wake up! Prohibition is over, but the country's still a mess! They need us out there! We've got some cleaning up to do -- especially when it comes to THIS GUY... Get those sport coats on with the big lapels... They're back -- they're fashionable again! Okay -- let's look at some mug-sheets of the suspects from the 80's... ADMIRAL POINDEXTER! Get back on Felix The Cat where you belong! Get the damn pipe out of your mouth! You're history, you're gone! OLIVER NORTH! No more "Secret Government" for you, buddy! You're over! you're trough! BILL CASEY! You're dead! BUSH! You're still a wimp -- I'm sorry -- you're history! DEAVER! NOFZIGER! You're crooks! Book 'em Dan-o! Dan-o? How'd he get in the show? Get outta here! REAGAN! You're asleep! Wake up! The country's in a mess! You're history anyway, buddy -- You're meat -- you're trough! You're vapor -- you're baloney without the mayo! You're outta here, buddy -- In fact, it's Robin Leach! "I don't know why..." Hey, fellas -- take me to the bridge! I want it now! Rico! Youngblood! Let's get outta here! It's all over! |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (guitar, vocals) Mike Keneally (guitar, synthesizer, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Walt Fowler (trumpet) Bruce Fowler (trombone) Paul Carman (alto saxophone) Albert Wing (tenor saxophone) Kurt McGettrick (baritone saxophone) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) Eric Buxton (vocals) While I was down in W.D.C. Certain folks were not glad to see me I just tried to get out the vote But some little weasel must 'a dropped 'em a note It said: "Check out the politics Practiced by this oaf And if they ain't just right Feed him Confinement Loaf." They wanne be Feedin' 'em Feedin' 'em Feedin' 'em Feedin' 'em Feedin' 'em Feedin' 'em Feedin' 'em Feedin' 'em LOAF...loaf (3X) |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (guitar, vocals) Mike Keneally (guitar, synthesizer, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, vocals) Ed Mann (percussion) Walt Fowler (trumpet) Bruce Fowler (trombone) Paul Carman (alto saxophone) Albert Wing (tenor saxophone) Kurt McGettrick (baritone saxophone) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) Eric Buxton (vocals) Jezebel Boy! You know all the guys In the Sheriff's Patrol They leave you alone When they round up the whores Up on Hollywood Boulebard Sometimes that nasty D.A. Thinks he needs his name In the paper again -- That's usually when The short-pants girls Have to take a ride With a friendly policeman But the Jezebel Boy On the corner by the Technicolor processing plant Stands by the light; Waitin' through the night Waitin' for that distinguished-looking Wilshire District Gentleman With snow-white hair, To drive up in his Lincoln, And whisk away the Jezebel Boy There he goes now! Old Ralph will make him put that wretched Sausage in his mouth again Another day, Another sausage -- Jezebel Boy |
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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 (guitar, lead vocals)
Ray White (rhythm guitar, vocals) Ike Willis (rhythm guitar, vocals) Bobby Martin (keyboards, saxophone, vocals) Alan Zavod (keyboards) Scott Thunes (bass) Chad Wackerman (drums) I used to have a job An' I was doin' fairly well Depression came along An' everybody start to yell "Where'd they go, them good ol' days, An' all that crap we used to sell?" Now I'm in Hot-Plate Heaven, at the Green Hotel Republicans is fine, If you're a multi-millionaire Democrats is fair, If all you own is what you wear Neither of 'em's REALLY right, 'Cause neither of 'em CARE 'Bout that Hot-Plate Heaven, 'Cause they ain't been there They really oughta go 'N find out how the hall-way smell -- They'd benefit to know 'Bout what the bums in there could tell (I guess we're only dreamin', But I s'pose it's just as well That's ALL you get to dream Up in the Green Hotel) Nature didn't put me here, An' neither did my fate -- It musta been some evil ol' Republican candidate! He's over there in Washington, But I wish he was in HELL 'Cause I'm in Hot-Plate Heaven At the Green Hotel Things is slightly better now; They hope we will forget The misery of 'TRICKLE DOWN', An' jelly-bean etiquette The Regal Presidential Style Has simply not worn well, But neither has my rags, Up in the Green Hotel I said the Green Hotel I mean the Green Hotel Been there once The Green Hotel We're goin' again The Green Hotel Neither has my rags, Up in the Green Hotel Hey, pass me the dog-food! |
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