Frank Zappa Album

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

THING-FISH:
Once upon a time, musta been 'round October, few years back, in one o' dose TOP SECRET LAB-MOTORIES de gubbnint keep stashed away underneath Virginia, an EVIL PRINCE, occasion'ly employed as a part-time THEATRICAL CRITICIZER set to woikin' on a plot fo de systematic GENOCIDICAL REMOVE'LANCE of all unwanted highly-rhythmic individj'lls an' sissy-boys!

De cocksucker done whiffed up a secret POTIUM... an' right 'long wid it, de ATROCIOUS IDEA dat what he been boilin' up down deahhhh jes' mights be de FINAL SOLUTIUM to DE WHITE MAIN'S 'BOIDENNN', ef yo' acquire my drift...

Well, he were sure he had a GOOD THING GOIN'... but, dere was always de possobility dat somethin' might fuck up, so, he planned to have a little test, jes' to check it all out befo' he dump't it in de wattuh supply.

Sho'tly denafter, wit HIGH-LEVEL GUBNINT CO-ROBBERATIUM, he arranged to have a good-will visit to SAN QUENTIM, 'long wit some country-westin mu- zishnin's, 'n sprinkle a little bit of it on some of de boys in deahhh (since dey done used a few of 'em befo' when dey was messin' wit de ZYPH'LISS).

So, heah dey come wit de POTIUM, dump'nit all in de mash potatoes!

Den dey wen' up to de warden's office fo' some HOT TODDY, watchin' a little football while dey's waitin' to see what gone happen!

Fact o' de matter were: NOTHIN' HAPPENED, so dey went off'n dribbled it in a special shipnint of GALOOT CO-LOG-NUH dat went out 'bouts NOVEMBER!

Next thing y'know, fagnits be droppin' off like flies...'long wit a large number of severely-tanned individj'lls, pre-zumnably of HAY'CHEN EXTRAKMENT!

But NOT DE BOYS IN DE REST HOME! Oh no! Mixin' de shit wit de mash potatoes done SMOOTHED IT OUT a little, so's it wouldn't KILL yo' ass, BUT, it sho' would make y'ugly! 'N ef y'was already UGLY, it'd make yo ass MEAN 'n UGLY...'n ef you was already MEAN 'n UGLY, it'd turn ya into a strange, UNKNOWN KREETCHUH, never befo' seen on BROADWAY!^LThass right! It'd turn ya' into a 'MAMMY NUN'! Head like a potato...lips like a duck...big ol' hands, puffin' up! BIG ONES! Science! ME-jev'l re-LIJ-mus costumery all over yo' BODY! Yow! Oh yeah! Mmmm-hmmm!

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

ENSEMBLE: (singing)
We got de talkin' shoes!
We de MAMMY NUNS!

THING-FISH:
(Dominose Vobiskmmmmm!)

ENSEMBLE:
We is important news!
We de MAMMY NUNS!

THING-FISH:
(Et cum spear a TU-TU, Ohhhhh!)

ENSEMBLE:
We destroy de blues!
We de MAMMY NUNS!

THING-FISH:
Sho' am, y'all!
(MAMMIES, step faw'd 'n express yo'sevs!)

ENSEMBLE:
We sho can dance 'n sing!
We's a lot o' fun!

THING-FISH:
(D'ja get any on ya down dere?)

ENSEMBLE:
We's doin' everything!
We's a lot o' fun!

THING-FISH:
(How'd YOU like to use my nakkin'?)

ENSEMBLE:
We's doin' de buck 'n wing!
We's a lot o' fun!
We's offa de wall!

THING-FISH: (pointing to his skirt)
(Fo' those of you unfamiliar wit de' nakkin,
Dis be de nakkin'!)

ENSEMBLE:
ON BROADWAY,
IT'S A NEW DAY...

THING-FISH:
On Broadway, It's a New Day!
Dat's right! Dat's what I say!

ENSEMBLE:
WHEN WE SAY...

THING-FISH:
Oh yeah! You 'bout through wif my nakkin'?

ENSEMBLE:
"We is de ones dey be callin' de 'MAMMY NUNS'!"

THING-FISH:
We ugly as SIN!

ENSEMBLE:
We de MAMMY NUNS!
WE BE LOOKIN' GOOD
WIT DE NAKKIN' ON!

THING-FISH:
We gots a nasty grin-n-n-n-n!

ENSEMBLE:
We de MAMMY NUNS!
WE BE LOOKIN' GOOD
WIT DE NAKKIN' ON!

THING-FISH: (pointing to HARRY)
We sho' ain't ugly as him...

ENSEMBLE:
We de MAMMY NUNS!
LAWD LAWD LAWD,
LAWD LAWD LAWD,
LAWD LAWD LAWD,
WE DE MAMMY NUNS!

THING-FISH:
Step right up, folks, 'n meet de 'MAMMY NUNS'! You two ugly white folks hafta excuse de SISTERS, as what dey put in de mash potatoes have rendered dem INCONTINENT! Anyhow, ovuh heahhhh, de scintillating SISTER OWL-GONKWIN-JANE COW-HOON, and de delectable SISTER GHENGHIS-ADONIS-OSMOSIS... 'long wif SISTER POTATO-HEAD BOBBY BROWN, and de ever-popular SISTER ANNE de DEVINE ...an' howsabouta heart-warmin' welcome fo' SISTER JASMINE NOXEMA-TAPIOCA an' her unscrutable companium, SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X'...an' I's yo host: de THING-FISH!

ENSEMBLE:
ON BROADWAY,
IT'S A NEW DAY,
WHEN WE SAY:
"We is de ones dey be callin' de
'MAMMY NUNS'!"

THING-FISH:
We is dressed to kill!

ENSEMBLE:
We be lookin' good!

THING-FISH:
We gives you quite a thrill!

ENSEMBLE:
We be dancin' good!
(Whom a ninny? Him? Him a ninny! Hah!
Whom a ninny? You'm a ninny! Haw!)
Wit de dancin' skill,
Wit de nakkin' on, LAWD!

Frank zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve vai (guitar)
Ray white (guitar, vocals)
Tommy mars (keyboards)
Chuck wild (piano)
Arthur barrow (bass)
Scott thunes (bass)
Jay anderson (string bass)
Ed mann (percussion)
Chad wackerman (drums)
Ike willis (vocals)
Terry bozzio (vocals)
Dale bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon murphy brock (vocals)
Bob harris (vocals)
Johnny "guitar" watson (vocals)

Rhonda: (stage whisper)
Harry, this is not dream girls!

Harry: (stage whisper)
They told me it had c-c-colored folk in it, rhonda, and that's always a sure sign of good, solid, musical entertainment! how was I supposed to know they'd be this ugly?

Rhonda:
They pissed on us, harry! they f**kin' pissed on us! look at my fox!

Harry:
I know, dear...but they pissed on me too...he did say they were incontinent!

Rhonda:
Just smell this! I think we should get out of here before they do something else to us!

Harry:

Oolite.

Rhonda:
What's happened to broadway, harry? used to be you could come to one of these things and the wind would be rushing down the plain or a fairy on a string would go over the audience...but now! har
Ask you: is this entertainment?

Harry:
You're absolutely correct, dear! so far we haven't seen a single good-looking pair of legs...a single sequin-encrusted whatchamacallit ...no firm, rounded breasts! this show is a disaster, rhond


Complete and utter disaster!

Thing-fish:
Mmmm! say dere...hey! umm-hmm! thass right! hey you! you two ugly white folks...over heahhh!

As you know, de presence of carboniferous hard-core unemployables has gen'rally, in de historical past, guaranteed an evenin' of upliftin' frolic and cavortment...it'd be a shame fo y'all t'miss
On dis here one! got some nice chairs fo' ya, rights ovuh heahhh.

Harry & rhonda rise, cross to thing-fish, and sit in the chairs he offers. they are immediately chained to them by the mammies.

Harry:
Uhhh...beg pardon? what's going on here?

Rhonda:
Oh! they're touching me! harry! harry! harry! harry, do something! they're putting chains on me! I'll be stuck to the chair! oh! what'll I do? I'll miss intermission!

Harry:
They're only 'theater chains', rhonda! just some sort of...

Rhonda:
These are real goddam chains, harry, and they're not gonna come off with woolite!

Harry:
I don't mind the way they feel...they don't bother me, honey...relax! go with the flow...

Rhonda:
Harry, you are an over-educated shit-head!

Thing-fish:
Look here, folks...dis only fo yo own protexium! once we gets rollin' heah, things be happnin' all over de place dat could prove dangerous to persons not previously acquainted wit de san quentim
- potatoes!

Rhonda:
I want the wind to come rushing down the plain! I want fairies on a string over the audience! I want real broadway entertainment! feathers! spot-lights! guilt! hours upon hours of guilt! about m
Her! about my father! about brave women, suffering at the hands of infantile, insensitive, dominating men! and what do I get? a potato-headed jig-a-boo with catholic clothes on! incomprehensible
Lips! weak bladders draining through abnorminably large organs! jesus, harry! what the f**k is going on here?

Harry:
Simmer down! if you'll just roll with the punches...and don't rock the boat, I'm sure we'll have a lovely evening at the theater!

Thing-fish:
Thass right! we got fairies on a string fo yo ass jes' a little later! meanwhile, I b'lieves y'all requires some updatement on de co-log-nuh situatium! sister ob'dewlla 'x'! express yo'seff!

ENSEMBLE: (singing)
GALOOT CO-LOG-NUH!

THING-FISH:
GALOOT, GALOOT,
GALOOT, GALOOT,
GALOOT, GALOOT,
De KILLER CO-LOG-NUH!

ENSEMBLE:
GALOOT
CO-LOG-NUH!

THING-FISH:
GALOOT, GALOOT,
GALOOT, GALOOT,
GALOOT, GALOOT,
De KILLER CO-LOG-NUH! Thass right!
De KILLER CO-LOG-NUH! Thass right!
Well, de gubnint dint fine out rights away 'bout...

ENSEMBLE:
De 'MAMMY NUNS'

THING-FISH:
Dat's right!

ENSEMBLE:
De 'MAMMY NUNS'

THING-FISH:
Well, dey's too damn excited 'bout de sissies dey was knockin' off, 'n workin' up an uncreedable variety of theoretical scenarios, to explain away how come de fagnits all be croakin' at de same time in -

ENSEMBLE:
NOVEMBER!

THING-FISH:
De month o' NOVEMBUH, reekin' of tainted CO-LOG-NUM! Dey booked in de heavy pseudo re-LIJ-mus talent to pronunciate de doc-TRINE of BIBLICAL RETRIBUTIUM!

ENSEMBLE:
Moving the project forward!

THING-FISH:
Figgin' dat to be...

ENSEMBLE:
Da-da-dee-dahh!

THING-FISH:
A sho-fi' explumation, suitable fo' Domestical...

ENSEMBLE:
Assuagement!

THING-FISH:
Natchilly, a substantial number o' severely ignint white folks went fo' it, hook, line, 'n shrinker!

By dat time, de 'MAMMY NUNS' had already sprouted dem 'tato heads, 'n was in de process of growin' out dey nakkins...

Also, by a peculiar corinsidence, we's all up fo' PAROLE at de SAME TIME! Thass right! You figgit out!

Once we's out DE JOINT, we faced a hard time in de depressium...couldn't get no 'sembly line woik, 'n since de nakkins we's wearin' atch'ly be GROWIN' outs our bodies, we was labelled as 'over-qualified' fo' janitorical deployment!

Onliest good thang 'bout bein' a 'MAMMY NUN' is we be mo-less UN-destructable! Whatever dey done whiffed up befo' don't do SHIT to us now! Fact, we jes mights be de onliest thangs left walkin' in de U.S.A., now de MYS'TRY RE-ZEASE gone outa control!

ENSEMBLE:
Just like you!

THING-FISH:
Just like you! I see some of y'all be FROWNIN' ...'cause mebbe y'think what I's tellin' ya' is a LIE! How 'bout it, folks? Whatcha say? Id dat right?

ENSEMBLE:
Yes, it sho' is!

THING-FISH:
Well, les' jes' have a test...how many o' you nice folks think I knows what I's talkin' 'bout? RAISE Y'HAIN UP! Uh-huh! An' how many thinks my potato been bakin' too long? RAISE YO MIZZABLE HAIN UP! Uh-huh!

Now...how many you folks is CONVINCED de gubnint be totally 'UNCONCERNED' wit de proliferatium o' UNDESIRABLE TENANTS in de CONDOMINIUM o' LIFE? An' how many folks believe THEY number won't come up, next time de breeze blow fum de Easterly directium?

Les' face it, peoples! Ugly as I mights be, I AM YO' FUTCHUM!

'Les y'all prefer 'permanent storage' or a condo in ATLANTIS.

ENSEMBLE:
They could really get down there!

THING-FISH:
Dey could really GET DOWN dere, but, I's de only protexium you got!

Now, durin' de intromissium, de SISTERS be sellin' some MASH POTATOES in de lobby, right over by de -

ENSEMBLE:
PYRAMID!

THING-FISH:
In de vicinity o' de...

ENSEMBLE:
SQUID DECOR!

THING-FISH:
'Neath de planet o' de big ol' giant...

ENSEMBLE:
Underwater door!

THING-FISH:
A generous good-will offerin' are REQUIRED...jes' let yo' conscience be yo' guide...

ENSEMBLE:
BLUE LIGHT!

THING-FISH:
Jes' follow de BLUE LIGHT, down de aisle to de potatoes durin' de intromissium...

ENSEMBLE:
Light, light, light, light...
BLUE LIGHT...
BLUE LIGHT...

ENSEMBLE:
...an' while y'all be thinkin' about de blue light, an' y'all be decidin' whether or not yo' immunity gwine hold up 'til de end o' de show, I's 'bout to address myseff to de re-educatement o' dem silly muthafuckers over deahhh.

ENSEMBLE:
You can't even speak your own fucking language!

THING-FISH:
What on urf do you mean: 'MY LANGUAGE'? I got yo language hangin', boy, 'long wif a two-week supply of IGNINT McNUGGET, de breakfast o' champiums!

ENSEMBLE:
Don't let your meat loaf! Huh-huh-huh!

THING-FISH:
Huh? Kiss my McNUGGET!

ENSEMBLE:
Your micro-nanette!

THING-FISH:
Y'kin kiss my micro-nanette too! Don't forget de GALOOT!

ENSEMBLE:
GALOOT CO-LOG-NUHHHHHH!

THING-FISH:
GALOOT COLOGNUM!

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

THING-FISH:
Now, dis nasty sucker is de respondable party fo de en-whiffment o' de origumal potium. Through de magik o' stage-kraff, we be able to see him at woik!

He now be preparin' some ugly shit to make yo' life even mo' mizzable den it awready are, since dis batch be resigned to render him IMMORTAL! We does not know if it gwine woik yet, but we kin always hope fo' de best!

THING-FISH: (singing)
Flies all green 'n buzznin'
In his dunjing of despair
Prisoners grummle an' piss dey' clothes
'N scratch dey' matted hair
A tiny light fum a window-hole
A hunnit yards away
Is all dey ever gets t'know
'Bouts de reg'luh life in de day

An' it stink so bad, de stones been chokin'
'N weepin' greenish drops
In de room where de giant fowah-puffer woikin',
'N de torchum never stops
De torchum never stops
De torchum,
De torchum,
De torchum never stops
(Go on, 'DEWLLA! Play dat lil' guitar one mo'gin!)

(spoken)


Uh-oh! I smells trubba! He be messin' wit pigmeat heahhh! Muthafucker be rejectin' some CO-LOG- NUH directly into de DUO-DEENUM of de unsuspecting victim! Now he gone see if he immune to it by eatin' a dab hisseff!

(singing)


Flies all green an' buzznin'
In his dunjing of despair
An EVIL PRINCE eats a steamin' pig
In a chamber, right near dere

He eat de snouts an' de trotters foist!
De loins an' de groins id soon re-spersed
His carvin' style id well re-hoist
He stan' 'n shout:

All main be coist!
All main be coist!
All main be coist!
All main be coist!

An' dis-ergree? Well, no one durst...
He de best, of cose, of all de woist
Some wrong been done, he done it foist...
An' he stink so bad, his bones been chokin'
And weepin' greenish drops,
In de vat of GALOOT CO-LOG-NUH,
Where de Re-zease be berlin' up
Berlin' an' uh boilin' up
CO-LOG-NUH!
CO-LOG-NUH!
GALOOT CO-LOG-UH-NUH!

THING-FISH: (spoken)
Oh! Do yoseff a favum 'n DON'T USE IT! Oooooooh! Look at THESE ugly suckers! Boy, when white folks come back fum bein' dead, they sho' gets scary-lookin'! But don't take their appearance too seriously, people, 'cause dey say dis de sort o' folks dat belongs on BROADWAY! The BROADWAY ZOMBIES collect around the EVIL PRINCE, who suddenly suspects the presence of an intruder. After taking a large bite from an onion he sings...

EVIL PRINCE: (singing)
Somewhere, over there, I can tell,
There's a voice of
A potato-headed whatchamacallit
Who does not wish me well!

His clothes are quite stupid,
And also his shoes!
He's got a big ol' duck-mouth!
(Who knows how he chews!)

He thinks he knows something
About THE GREAT PLAN!
How ULTIMATE BLANDNESS
Must RULE and COMMAND

He knows not a drop,
Not a crumb,
Not a whit,
Of the reason for doing
This criminal shit
And then, if he did,
Would it matter a bit?
Not at all!
Because IT IS WRIT:

Our BEIGE-BLANDISH GOD
Tends to CERTIFY IT:

"Only the boring and bland shall survive!
Only the lamest of lameness will thrive!"
Take it or leave it, you won't be alive,
If you are overtly CREATIVE!

Fairies and faggots and queers are
'CREATIVE'
All the best music on Broadway is
'NATIVE'

Who will step forward
And end all this trouble?
For beige-blandish citizens,
Clutching the rubble
Of vanishing dreams
Of wimpish amusement,
Replaced by a rash
Of 'CREATIVE' confusement!
Soon, my brave Zombies,
You'll make your return!
Broadway will glow!
Broadway will burn!
(Along with the remnants of
EVERYTHING NEW)
My HOLY DISEASE will do
Wonders for you!
Those lovely producers
Who paid for you 'then'
Will do it again, and again, and again!

EVIL PRINCE: (singing to the Zombies)
The spying potato
With horrible diction
Will rot in the garbage
When this show's eviction
Takes place shortly after
My alternate skill
Of THEATRICAL SABOTAGE
Triumphs YOUR will!

I've a special review
I've been saving for years
For a show just like this,
With POTATOES and QUEERS

I'll say it's disgusting, atrocious, and dull
I'll say it makes boils inside of your skull
I'll say it's the worst-of-the-worst of the
year,
No wind down the plain, and it's hard on your
ear
I'll say it's the work of an infantile mind
I'll say that it's tasteless, and that you will
find
A better excuse to spend money or time
At a Tupper-Ware Party,
So, do be a smarty!
Hold on to that dollar
A little while longer
For spending it here,
Why, it couldn't be wronger!

WHAT'S HAPPENED TO BROADWAY?
WHERE'S IT GONE, ALL THE GLITTER?
THE 'HEART' AND THE 'SOUL'
THE PATTER?
THE PITTER?

And after this deadly review hits the paper,
In will come ROPER, BENDER & RAPER,
To legally execute all that remains
Of this tragic amusement for drug-addled brains

THING-FISH: (singing)
Flies all green an' buzznin'
In his dunjing of despair
Who are all o' dem ZOMBIES
Dat he fuckin' wit down dere?
Are dey crazy?
Are dey sainted?
Are dey STAGE-KRAFF someone painted?

It have never been explained,
Since at first it were created,
But, a MUSICAL, like we's in,
Require a WHOLE BUNCH O' EVERYTHIN'!
We talkin' EVERYTHIN' DAT EVER BEEN!
Look at her!
Look at him!

Dat what de deal we dealin' in
Dat what de deal we dealin' in
Dat what de deal we dealin' in
Dat what de deal we dealin' in

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

HARRY:
RHONDA, that EVIL PRINCE...he certainly does have a way about him!

RHONDA:
At least HE didn't piss on my fox...and HE has REAL BROADWAY STARS for personal acquaintances!

HARRY:
They're all dead, dear...Zombies, I believe... the 'walking dead'...Jack Palance did a show on them once.

The EVIL PRINCE reaches into the bowels of the ravaged experimental pig and gorges himself on the raw entrails, tossing scraps to the BROADWAY ZOMBIES.

RHONDA:
Oh my God! Look what he's doing with that stuff from inside the pig! Yuck! That's disgusting! Are you sure this guy is a PRINCE?

HARRY:
He's an EVIL PRINCE, dear...and part-time theater critic! They don't make a heck-of-a-lot of money, y'know! We should probably feel sorry for him. You have to admit, those ARE some of the least expensive cuts of pork.

THING-FISH:
Don't you white folks know nothin'? Dat cock-sucker not only mean 'n dangerous, he ignint in regards to de prep'ratium o' food-stuffs! Even in SAN QUENTIM I never seen nobody eat a RAW CHITLIN'! De muthafucker be CRAZY! An' when dat gobbige make it's way thoo de digestium process, you bes' be hopin' you on yo' way outa heahh! Next item de boy be inventin' come under de headin' o' industrial pollutium!

HARRY:
Just what are these...chitlin's?

THING-FISH:
Dat dere id perhaps de questium most frequently posed by members of yo' species! I'll jes' gets de MAMMYS t'hep me relucidate dis bafflin' concept wit another thrillin' numbuh! Straighten up in dat chair and pay ATTENTIUM! People, dis is fo yo' own good! Do YOU know what YOU ARE?

SISTER ANNE de DEVINE and SISTER GHENGHIS-ADONIS-OSMOSIS clamp electrodes on HARRY & RHONDA. The other sisters re-enter with a pair of stuffed dummies, used to illustrate the song text in a bizarre sort of 'Bun-raku First-Aid Demonstration'.

Do you know what you are?
You are what you is
You is what you am
(A cow don't make ham...)
You ain't what you're not
So see what you got
You are what you is
An' that's all it 'tis

A foolish young man
From a middle class fam'ly
Started singin' the blues
'Cause he thought it was manly
Now he talks like the Kingfish
("Saffiiiee!")
From Amos 'n Andy
("Holy mack'l dere...Holy mack'l
dere!")
He tells you that chitlins...
Well, they taste just like candy
He thinks that he's got
De whole thang down
From the Nivea Lotion
To de Royal Crown

Do you know what you are?
You are what you is
You is what you am
(A cow don't make ham...)
You ain't what you're not
So see what you got
You are what you is
An' that's all it 'tis

A foolish young man
Of the Negro Persuasion
Devoted his life
To become a caucasian
He stopped eating pork
He stopped eating greens
He traded his dashiki
("UHURU!")
For some Jordache Jeans
He learned to play golf
An' he got a good score
Now he says to himself
("I AIN'T NO NIGGER NO MORE...HEY! HEY! HEY!")

"I don't understand you..."
BWANA MA-COO-BAH
"Would you please speak more clearly..."
MERCEDES BAINNNNNNNZ

Who is who
(I don't know)
'N what is what
(Somethin' I just don't know...)
'N why is this
(Tell me now...)
Appropriot
(That's a funny pronunciation if'n ever
I heard one...)
If you don't like
(Where'd you get that word?)
What you has got
(Appropriot? The word is not...)
Drop it in the dirt
(Drop it yeah...)
'N let it rot
(I can smell it now...)
Someone else
(Here de come, here de come...)
Will surely come
(I told you they was comin')
'N pick it up
(That's right!)
'Cause he wants some
(An' he wants it for free...)
And when one day
(There will come a day...)
You wonder who
(I wonder too...)
You used to was
(Who I was anyway...)
'N what you do
(I used to work at the post office...)
You'll scratch your head
(But I don't wanna un-do my doo...)
'N look around
(Just to see what's goin' on)
But what you lost
(Can't seem to find it...)
Will not be found
(A Mercedes Benz...)
Do you what you are?
(I know...)
You are what you is
(I'm the kinda guy...)
You is what you am
(That ought to be drivin' a Mercedes Benz...)
A cow don't make a ham
(A four-fifty SLC...)
You ain't what you're not
(A big ol' red one...)
So see what you got
(With some golf clubs stickin' out de trunk...)
You are what you is
(I'm gwine down to de links on Saturday mornin'...)
An' that's all it is
(Gimme a five dollar bill...)
YOU ARE WHAT YOU IS
(And an overcoat too...)
AND THAT'S ALL IT IS
(Robbie, take me to Greek Town...)
YOU ARE WHAT YOU IS
(I'm harder than yer husband; harder than yer husband...)
AN THAT'S ALL IT IS
(I'm goin' down to White Street, y'all...)
YOU ARE WHAT YOU IS
(Gone down to the Mudd Club, 'n work
the wall...)
AN THAT'S ALL IT IS
('N work the floor 'n work the pipe 'N
work the wall some more...
And here we are at the Mudd Club,
Y'all...
I hope you enjoy yourself, cause the
show's about
To begin...)

Hey, they're really dancin'
They're on auto-destruct
On the floor
On the pipe
Bouncin' off-a the wall
Hey, the people here are really
Tearin' it up
On the side
In the back
By the front of the stage

They ain't really crazy
You can take it from me
I should know
'Cause I go
Every time I'm in town

If you never tried it
Lemme straighten you out
It's the best kinda place
To unfasten yerself

MUDD CLUB
All the way downtown
MUDD CLUB
They ain't messin' around
Just turn to the left 'n look around
It's there somewhere
If you ain't found it, better
Hurry up
The folks down there's on auto-destruct
And so can you be too
(Fact of the matter
it's made for you...)
Try it on a Saturday 'bout four o'clock in
the mornin'
Or even on a Monday at midnight
When there's just a few of them
Fabulous Poodles
Doin' the Peppermint Twist for real

In black sack dresses with nine inch heels
And then a guy with a blue mohawk comes in

In Serious Leather...
(And all the rest of whom for which
To whensonever of partially
indeterminate
Bio-chemical degradation
Seek the path to sudsy yellow nozzle
Of their foaming nocturnal
Parametric digital whole-wheat
inter-faith
Geothermal terpsichorean ejectamenta
In Serious Leather...Serious Chains
Then they work the wall
'N work the floor
'N work the pipe
'N work the wall some more
In Serious Leather
In Serious Chains
In Serious Clothing
From when they come downtown

From the ruins of Studio 54
To twist 'n frugg
In an arrogant gesture
To the best of what the 20th Century has
to offer, at the
MUDD CLUB

Al Malkin's down there now
Looking for a Virgin with nice breath...
(Why, maybe it's you...
And you don't even know it!)

Hey, they're really dancin'
They're on auto-destruct
On the floor
On the pipe
Bouncin' off-a the wall

Hey, the people here are really
Tearin' it up
On the side
In the back
By the front of the stage

They ain't really crazy
You can take it from me
I should know
'Cause I go
Every time I'm in town

If you never tried it
Lemme straighten you out
It's the best kinda place
To unfasten yerself

WORK THE WALL
WORK THE FLOOR
WORK THE PIPE
IN SERIOUS PAIN

Some take the bible
For what it's worth
When it says that the meek
Shall inherit the Earth
Well, I heard that some sheik
Has bought New Jersey last week
'N you suckers ain't gettin' nothin'
Is Hare Rama really wrong
If you wander around
With a napkin on
With a bell on a stick
An' your hair is all gone...
(The geek shall inherit nothin')

You say yer life's a bum deal
'N yer up against the wall...
Well, people, you ain't even got no
Deal at all
'Cause what they do
In Washington
They just takes care
of NUMBER ONE
An' NUMBER ONE ain't YOU
You ain't even NUMBER TWO

Those Jesus Freaks
Well, they're friendly but
The shit they believe
Has got their minds all shut
An' they don't even care
When the church takes a cut
Ain't it bleak when you got so much
nothin'
(So whaddya do)
Eat that pork
Eat that ham
Laugh till ya choke
On Billy Graham
Moses, Aaron 'n Abraham...
They're all a waste of time
'N it's yer ass that's on the line
(IT'S YER ASS THAT'S ON THE LINE)

Do what you wanna
Do what you will
Just don't mess up
Your neighbor's thrill
'N when you pay the bill
Kindly leave a little tip
And help the next poor sucker
On his one way trip...
SOME TAKE THE BIBLE...
(Aw gimme half a dozen for the hotel
room!)

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

THING-FISH:(contd.)
Thass right, folks! We talkin' de hypocritical Jeezis-jerknuh parodise dey call LAS VAGRUS NEVADRUH!

QUENTIN done booked in fo some clandestine recreatium wit a semi-deflateable 'woman of easy virtue'...(since dat be 'bouts de onliest kinda bitch be able to tolerate de muthafucker's hair spray!)

Bein' jes' like most de other nasty cocksuckers in de Video-Religium Industry, QUENTIN know a good thing when he see one, an dis ugly rubber waitress look to him like a dream come true...specially since his TV WIFE, OPAL, be in de next room drinkin' Jack Daniels 'n puttin' de hurts on some ignint bell-boy.

'Ventchlly when all de plookin' 'n trashin' be done wif, de bell-boy (who turn out to be de illejiminit son o' de video preacher) gwine take a job at a gas statium in New Jersey...an' de blow-up dolly gwine come to life and fall in love wit de junior wimp who's gettin' ready to appear over in de corner deahhh.

THING-FISH:(contd.)
Les' meet de lil' sucker now, while he's still young...'cause, 'fo y'all knows it, he be reachin' adulthood and marry some bitch name RHONDA ...'n, by dat time, he gwine become what dey call an OVER-EDUCATED SHIT-HEAD!

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

RHONDA:
HARRY! HARRY, is that YOU as a BOY?

HARRY:
Why, it MUST be! He's so charming and sweet and likeable!

THING-FISH:
HARRY-AS-A-BOY, c'mon over 'n say a few words to de nice peoples!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
Hi, folks! Nice to be here!

THING-FISH:
I's sure dere be lotsa folks like to know what yo' plans are...how y'intend t'be gwine about dis uncredibly serious bidniss o' GROWIN' UP IN ERMERICA!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
Well, I plan on making a few mistakes, having my heart broken and so forth, using all kinds of drugs, and turning gay as soon as possible in order to accelerate my rise to the 'top of the heap'.

THING-FISH:
Ahh! Tremenjous, HARRY-AS-A-BOY, simply tre- MENJOUS! You practicin' up fo it wit anybody in po-ticlar now?

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
I can't afford to study with anyone yet, since the bulk of my allowance goes for glue and Grateful Dead tickets, but soon I hope to be on my knees in a REAL HOMO BATH HOUSE...maybe when my folks go on vacation.

THING-FISH:
Ain't you de clever one! Tell us, HARRY-AS-A-BOY, howdja recide upon dis heah life-style bein' DE ONE FO YOU?

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
It was pretty simple, really. I lost all desire for intercourse with females when they started carrying those briefcases and wearing suits 'n ties.

RHONDA:
WHAT?

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
Let's face it: that would be like fucking a slightly more voluptuous version of somebody's father! I'm far too sensitive for such a traumatic experience!

THING-FISH:
You means DE WOMENS' LIBROMATION MOVENINT done created de uncontrollable urgement to play dingle-dangle-dingle wit de personal requipment of yo own gender?

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
To a degree...I mean...look, I'm not stupid! I know it's all a thoroughly workable government- sponsored program to control the Population Explosion, and, just like every other AMERICAN, I'm too concerned with MY OWN personal health and well being to think of devoting any of MY precious time to something as boring as 'REPRODUCTION'!

RHONDA:
HARRY, I used to think you were merely an OVER- EDUCATED SHIT-HEAD, but now that I finally have proof, it's going to give me GREAT PLEASURE to refer to you as an OVER-EDUCATED COCKSUCKER!

HARRY:
Well, to be honest with you, dearest, I sort of ...gulp, gulp...

RHONDA:
Where's the fairies on a string, HARRY? Huh? Riddle me this!

THING-FISH:
Easy there, white folks! I told y'all'd be get- tin' yo' fairies after while, 'n y'know dat sort o' thing take a little time to woik up to in yo' BROADWAY SITCHYATIUM! MAMMYS step faw'd 'n hep de lil' cocksucker out!

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

ENSEMBLE: (singing)
He's so gay
He's so gay
He's very very gay
He's so gay
He's so gay
And he likes to be that way
With his keys all on the right
He's into rubber every night
He's so gay
He's so gay
He's ALMOST EVERYONE TODAY

He's okay
He's okay
He's got a role he wants to play
He's okay
He's okay
He's just a cowboy for a day

Of course, his evening's not complete
Without some meat in the seat;
Let's skate away
Down Santa Monica today

Maybe he wants a little spanking
Maybe he'll eat a little chain
Maybe his lover should be thanking him
For the way he makes it sprinkle
Into drops of GOLDEN RAIN

He's so gay
He's so gay
He rules the city in a way
You could say
You could say
It's sorta different today
All the taffeta and chintz
And every Leather Boy's a PRINCE
Hey hey hey!
Please don't look the other way

You could be just like him
TOMORROW!
Maybe you'll get a chance
To borrow
(Borrow)
His bouquet
And maybe later...MAYBE LATER
We'll ALL BE
GAY-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y!
DO YOU REALLY WANNA HURT ME?

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

THING-FISH: (to the rubber girl)
Hmmm! Dat quite a massive improve'lence, dahlin'! Jes' a few moments ago you was well on yo' way to bein' severely ugly! Now, thoo de magik o' stagekraff, de blubulence of yo' blobulence done reciprocated to a respectumal reclusium! Yow! SCIENCE!

(to HARRY & RHONDA)
Ef y'all don't minds me sayin' so, I b'lieves it's 'bout time fo yo pathetical miniaturized replicas to FALL IN LOVE! After all...dis lil' sucker already been fulla glue, homo-sectional extru- siums, 'n ARMY FOOD...nothin' left fo' him to do, 'cept get catched by dis' lil' stinker over heahhh!

'Membuh, we's on BROADWAY! Muthafucker be buyin' dem tickets wants a lil' HEART, a lil' SOUL...'n some TITTY TOO, ef dey can git it, so, les' get y'all in positium heah, 'n get dis silly business over wit! Y'all's takin' too goddam long to GROW UP IN ERMERICA!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
I suppose you're right, Mr. THING-FISH, but you'll have to admit...this is a rather awkward situation!

HARRY:
That's right! Stage-craft is one thing, but this is ridiculous! Where did that stimulating little replica come from anyway?

RHONDA:
That's a GOOD QUESTION, HARRY! Don't let him wiggle out of it! Hound him mercifullessly until you receive a suitable answer!

HARRY:
Now, just hold yourself in abeyance, RHONDA! I'll handle this! Look here, 'Mr. POTATO-HEAD', what's the meaning of all this? Do you realize what you're asking my REPLICA to do? Do you expect him to literally FALL IN LOVE in front of all these people...with that artificial RHONDA over there?

THING-FISH:
Do de Pope shit in de woods?

HARRY:
Now, just hold on there, buddy! Let's be serious! The toilet training of exalted religious personalities is not our primary topic of discussion!

RHONDA:
HARRY, that's wonderful! The way you're just rearing up on your hind legs like that! That's terrific! So what if you suck a little cock every once in a while! That's TERRIFIC!

THING-FISH: (to HARRY)
Look heahhh, sweetheart, they's somethin' fishy gwine on...all I's wantin' to do is get de romantic in'trust out de way so we can git back to de EVIL PRINCE, 'n see what de fuck we gone do 'bouts HIM! De way you's givin' me de lip, lead me to infer a subterior motivatium!

HARRY: (singing)
I WANT A NUN!
I WANT A NUN!
I WANT A BURRO,
IN THE FROSTY LIGHT!

THING-FISH:
You want a NUN? De boy want a NUN? What de fuck kinda NUN you want?

HARRY: (singing)
I CAN'T SEEM TO MAKE UP MY MIND!
SOMETHING ABOUT MAMMYS
SEEMS SO SUBLIME...
THAT'S THE BROADWAY WORD
USED WHEN THEY RHYME
A SONG ABOUT LOVE!

THING-FISH:
But, on BROADWAY, it's a NEW DAY! Ain'tcha hoid? Yo' unrequired desirin's be mo' suited to de ZOMBY-FOLK up in de EVIL PRINCE'S lab-mo-to-rium!

HARRY: (whimpering)
Don't make fun of me...PLEASE! I know I'm not the most desirable kind of fellow a 'MAMMY NUN' could choose for intimate companionship...but...but... gosh-darn-it, I'd TRY...I'd REALLY TRY to make you HAPPY!

RHONDA:
HARRY...you are...a worm...a disgusting WORM! YOU WORMMMMMM! You are nothing but a WORMMMMMMMMMMMM!

THING-FISH:
Boy obviously got hisseff a provlum! Would y'all like to use my nakkin' one mo' time?

HARRY:
Oh, YES! YES! Give me...your...how do you say it? 'NAY'KIN'? Oh!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
I think this is going too far, Mr. THING-FISH! I haven't even had a chance to fall in love, or to grow to maturity yet! The ARTIFICIAL RHONDA is pining away for my wholesome companionship, just over there! This isn't right! You're letting everything get all out of sequence!

THING-FISH:
Whoa! I gots yo' 'SEQUENCE' hangin', boy! Get outs de way! Cain't y'see dat de mizzable cock-sucker you ultimately gwine become done fell in love wit' a 'MAMMY NUN'! Awright, which one idit, sweetheart?

HARRY:
I...I...can't seem to make up my mind...you're all so...MASTERFUL! So SENSUOUS...you're so INCREDIBLY TALENTED!

RHONDA:
...a wor-r-r-r-r-mmmmmmmmmm! You are a FUCKING WOR-R-R-R-R-R-R-MMMMMMMMM!

THING-FISH:
Makes up yo' mind, dahlin'! We ain't gots all night heahhh! Intromissium be comin' up putty quick! Folks be headin' on out to de lobby fo' dem MASH POTATOES we tole 'em 'bout earlier!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
I insist on FALLING IN LOVE, right now, this very moment, and I don't care what you do with HIM...

THING-FISH:
Go 'head on den...go git yo' deflateable bitch ovuh deah! Judgin' fum all de fuss, you ain't in much better shape den de large economy size been clutchin' at my nakkin!

We gots a love song (jes' yo' type), bridgin' de conceptiumal gap between what you IS, what you THINK you is, what WE think you is, what you is GONNA BE, 'n also what yo' rubberized madonna be somewhat remindin' me of!

SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X', gather de mo' sensitive MAMMYS together fo' harmonicizatiumal purposes, while de ones with de M.B.A.'s hit de lobby 'n sell some shit, 'fo de customers over-run yo' ass! Meanwhile, lil' guy, go get yo' rubber girl 'n esspress yo-seff!

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

THING-FISH:
Don't look OB'DEWLLA! It's too horrible! I b'lieve de muthafucker 'bout to ask dat rubber girl to dance!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
Hey, good-lookin'!

THING-FISH:
See! I told ya!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
May I have this dance?

THING-FISH:
Muthafucker barf me right on outa here, AN' gag me wit a spoon!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Do you come here often?

THING-FISH:
YOW!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY: (singing)
I got a girl with a little rubber head
Rinse her out every night just before I go to bed
She never talk back like a lady might do
An' she looks like she loves it every time I get through
And her name is
A-R-T-I
F-I-C, I cry
A-L, don't be shy!
ARTIFICIAL RHONDA
With the plastic pie

Her eyes is all shut in a ecstasy face
I can cram it down her throat, people, any old place!
Then I throw the little switch on her battery pack
'N I can poot it, I can shoot it till it makes her gack!
And her name is
A-R-T-I
F-I-C, I cry
A-L, don't be shy!
ARTIFICIAL RHONDA
With the plastic pie

ENSEMBLE:
De boy got a girl wit' a lil' rubber haid
Rinse her out evvy night, jes befo' he go t'bed
He gonna grow up, 'n marry dat trash
Wit a ugly rubber head, an' a 'flateable gash

She jes' de kinda girl dis sucker might need
He's a little bit dumb, peoples, yes indeed
De boy wanna 'RHONDA', jeffo hisseff!
She gonna take what he got 'til nothin' be lef'
She gonna take what he got 'til nothin' be lef'
She gonna take what he got 'til nothin' be lef'
She gonna take what he got 'til nothin' be lef'

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

CRAB-GRASS BABY:
Stroke me pompadour, pompaduooor, pompaduooor, pompaduooor. Stroke me pompadour, father. Stroke it nicely while I tell you about the problems I am having with my car an my girlfriend. Ooo-wo-woo, the white man's burden!

Her and her girlfriend used to go out and booze it up and tear up the upholstery; rip the seats completely out, and so I got a fifty-six Olds. About the time I got it running decently, she got in it and wrecked the trans...tore it completely up, so I had to get another Oldsmobile (either that or go to Tijuana or go to BROWN MOSES way down in Egypt-Land). It's so hard on a child when his car is fucked up. Buy me a Volvo, faaather.

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
Isn't it terrific, artificial RHONDA!

CRAB-GRASS BABY:
One-Adam-Twelve...see the enormous white pompadour! Ha-Ha-ha-ho! That's a good one! Hoo-hoo-hoo.

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
He's so young, and yet, SO WISE!

CRAB-GRASS BABY:
I pooped my pants, pooped my pants, pooped my pants! I went doody, faaather, sob-sob-sob-sob-sob.

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
His vocabulary is astonishing!

CRAB-GRASS BABY:
So what if you suck a little cock every once in a while?

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
Ohhh...I'm so lucky to have a son like this...

CRAB-GRASS BABY:
Barf me out...gag me with a Volvo!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
I can't wait to show him to all the fellas down at the MINE-SHAFT!

CRAB-GRASS BABY:
Take me to the movies. Buy me a balloon. Stroke me pompadour!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
Look! Look! Look at the pecker on him, wouldja! Goodjy-goodjy-goodjy-goo! Hoo hoo hoo!

THING-FISH:
Dis boy have a 'PROVLEM'! However, how 'bout a nice round of applause fo de three 'WISE MAMMIES', comin' atcha outa chute numba five!

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

ENSEMBLE: (singing)
De white boy troubles!
(White boy troubles!)
De white boy troubles!
(Boy got troubles!)
Oh what a boidennn!
(Oh, heavy boidennn!)
His car's fucked up!
De boy got a provlem!
She ripped up de 'polstry
(Wit de red dress on)
Outa dat O-zo-mobile!
(Tell me what I say)
Hafta go ta Tia-Juana now!
(I don't have it)
He should go to BROWN MOSES,
Way down in Egyppp-Lainnn!
(Egyppp-Lainnn)

THING-FISH: (checking off a clipboard, like a social worker)
Looks likes y'done putty good heahh, HARRY-AS-A-BOY! I sees ya' growin' up like a weed, axmodently reproducin' YOSEFF 'n evvythang. Done found some low-rent housin' in a one-dimensional cardbode nativity box on some Italian's funt lawn...bunch o' crab-grass underneath de offspring fo quick 'n easy sanitatium...shit! Y'all provvly be savin' up fo yo first LAVA LAMP putty soon!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
We're incredibly happy! Even though I'm gay for business purposes, my relationship with artificial RHONDA has blossomed into something really beautiful, although I must confess to being baffled by how she got knocked up.

THING-FISH:
Well, if de trufe be told, it were de father o' de boy at de gas statium...when y'sent de ol' lady in fo' de inner-tube patchin', 'round de foth o' July.

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
QUENTIN? How could he be so unfaithful? I'm sure God has ways of punishing naughty little guys like that!

THING-FISH:
Mights well stop complainin', boy! De damage been done! Leastways y'all can pretend to be SOME KINDA DADDY! Yo' rubber bitch ain't gwine change no diapers! Y'said y'all was incredibly happy! Enjoy it while y'got it, boy! De shit gwine hit de fan in a minute!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY:
What? Something BAD is going to happen?

THING-FISH:
You figgit out...judgin' fum de intellectional expressium on yo' beloved's ignint face, de bitch gwine be contemplatin' A CAREER OF HER OWN! See dat?

Look like she got her one good eye on a briefcase 'n a tweed spo't coat down de mall somewheres!

Durin' de intromissium, few de SISTERS seen her 'tendin' a CONSCIOUSNESS RAISIN' MEETIN' over at de Hiltum! Thass right! Bitch passed up de MASH POTATOES 'n took off wit' de High School Cafeteria Butch.

FRANCESCO opens the door, and stands on the porch, still watching through the binoculars.

THING-FISH: (contd.)
Makin' matters woise, de Italian dat be ownin' yo' nativity bungalow been wondrin' 'bouts de hanky AN' de panky 'tween you 'n dem two concrete flamingos ovuh by de steps! You been messin' wit de State Bird o' New Jersey, muthafucker! Dat kin git you five to life in dis vicinity! If you wants a little frennly advice, boy, I'd be growin' my ass up a little quicker, 'n whizz on outa heahh!

Leave de ugly baby in de crab-grass, snatch up yo' wretched excuse fo a woman, 'n climb on up de heap! Get yo'seff a job drivin' a truck fulla string-beans to Utah! Make sumfin' out y'seff, so's y'can afode a ticket to de MAMMY NUN SHOW! Den we can piss all ovuh de adulterated wimp you gwine become, an' get de shit rollin' agin'!

No not now
No not now
No not now
No not now
Maybe later
Maybe later
She say I'm free
She say I'm free
She say I'm free
She say I'm free
But I like her sister
But I like her sister
She can't decide
Whom she wanna ride
She can't decide
Whom she wanna ride
Tonight - tonight - tonight

She changed her mind
She changed her mind
She changed her mind
She changed her mind
And I don't blame her
And I don't blame her

No not now
(No no not now)
No not now
(Wo no not now)
No hot now
(Wo no not now)
No not now
(Wo not now)
Maybe later
Maybe later
(Shut up' You need a vacation, boy')
The big Г®l' hat
(The big ol' hat)
The cowboy pants
(Those cowboy pants)
Transcontinental
(It's a transcontinental)
Hobby horse
(A hobby hobby horse)
String beans to Utah
(That's right)
String beans to Utah
Tonight

(Ah, the wife)
Oh, the waitress
(And the waitress too)
Oh, the drive
(Yes, yes the drive)
All night long
(All night long)
String beans to Utah
(Yum yum)
String beans to Utah
Deliver string beans
To Utah tonight
(Giddyup)
I better go fast
Or they won't be all right
(All right)
Deliver string beans
To Utah tonight
(Yum yum)
Donny 'n Marie
Can both take a bite
(Bite it Mane)
Hawaiian - Hawaiian - Hawaiian Lunch
(Hawaiian lunch!)
Boog, boog 'em Dano.. Murder One!

No not now
(No no not now)
No not now
(No no no no not now)
No not now
(No no not now)
No not now
(No no no no not now)
Maybe later
Maybe later

She changed her mind
(She changed her mind)
She changed her mind
(You know she changed her mind)
She changed her mind
(She changed her mind)
She changed her mind
(You know she changed her mind)
And I don't blame her
And I don't blame her

She's sorta wild
(She wild, she wild)
She's sorta wild
(Really wild, really wild)
She's sorta wild
(She wild, she wild)
A crazy child
(Crazy child, crazy child)
Tonight - tonight - tonight

There she goes
(There she goes)
Up and down
(Up and down)
Ride that bull
(She's ridin' that bull)
All around
(All around)
The best in town
(She's the best in town)
Oh she goes
(She go up, she go down)
Up and down
(I said up and down)

Oh that bull
(The whole bull)
The whole bull
(The whole bull)
The whole bull
(The whole damn thing)
The best in town
(Where she go? Ebzen Sauce...)

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

HARRY: (to THING-FISH)
Anything you say, master! Take me, I'm yours!

RHONDA: (Broadway-style fake singing)
Jingle bells, Jingle bells,
Jingle all the way!
Oh, what fun it is to ride
To Chicago every day, oh...

THING-FISH:
Oooh, lawd! Lookit you, boy! Chain thoo de nipples 'n evvy goddam thing! You a sick white muthafucker, ain'tcha?

RHONDA:
Bells on bob-tail ring,
Making spirits bright!
Oh, what fun it is to ride
To Chicago every night, oh...

HARRY:
For Chrissake, RHONDA! Have you no SHAME?

THING-FISH:
Y'all make up y'mind yet, 'bouts de MAMMY o' yo' dreams?

HARRY:
You bet! I've waited ALL MY LIFE for this moment! My heart is fluttering! If only I could submit myself on approval, for a limited time only...to ...to that nasty little rubber MAMMY on your knee...

THING-FISH:
SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X'? De mys'try SISTER? Y'all wants t'party hearty with de min'yature rubber MAMMY wit de string out de back? Yow! Dintcha get 'nuff 'buse fum de other bitch when y'was livin' in de card-bo'd hut?

RHONDA:
HARRY...HARRY...hey! HARRY! Fucking wor-r-r-mmmmmmmmmm! I want a DIVORCE, HARRY!

HARRY:
Not now, dearest, PLEASE! This is serious! Little MAMMY, what'll it be? Hips or lips?

HARRY snatches SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X' away from THING-FISH, bashing himself with it in an irrational manner.

RHONDA un-zips the Santa Claus costume, revealing the rubber body suit, hoping for some sign of interest from her deranged husband. There isn't any...he's beating the fuck out of himself and loving every minute of it.

She squeezes her rubber tits, as if to squirt them at him. Still no interest.

RHONDA:
You're a wor-r-r-r-mmmmmmm! A fucking WOR-R-R-R-M-M-M-M-MMMMMMMMMMM! These are my TITS, HARRY! I have TITS! Look! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT MY WONDERFUL TITS, YOU FUCKING WOR-R-R-R-R-MMMMMMMM! I'm going to pretend I'm SQUIRTING THEM ON YOU! Whoo! Wheeeee! ALMOST GOTCHA!

HARRY:
Not now, RHONDA! Ow! Oof! Oh, I love this! Hurt me! Hurt me! Oh, pull my chain, you tiny potato-headed whatchamacallit!

RHONDA:
They're almost squirting, HARRY! Look! Look! Whoooooo! Whooooo! Whoooo! You fucking worm!

THING-FISH:
OB'DEWLLA! Is y'awright? Don't be pullin' de boy's chain too hard dere! He gots 'nuthuh show t'do t'morrow! Don't put dat in yo' MOUF, girl! I knows y'cain hep y'seff wit dat crazy muthafucker 'busin' you like dat, but jes' hang on a lil' longuh...he be droppin' de wad putty soon now!

RHONDA: (pinching her nipples, jiggling her tits)
Jingle bells, jingle bells...

HARRY:
Oh! This is divine!

RHONDA:
This is my PUSSY, HARRY! Look! See it? You know what I'm gonna do with it, you worm? I'm gonna make it FUCK SOMETHING! That's right! You won't get any of it...because you're DISGUSTING! An' I don't need you, MR. FIRST-NIGHTER! My wonderful, wonderful pussy doesn't need you! I have my BRIEFCASE, HARRY! I'm going to FUCK MY BRIEFCASE! I'm going to...look! Look at this! I got it right over here! There! See it? My BIG, BROWN, BRIEFCASE! MY BRIEFCASE! It's BIG, HARRY! It's full of BUSINESS PAPERS...from MY CAREER!

A tan and brown briefcase, seven feet tall, is lowered in. FRANCESCO watches it land near his window. He exits the bungalow with a can of Crisco and a violin case. n pantomime, he cautiously interrupts RHONDA'S monologue, suggesting that she examine the contents of the case. It contains a strap-on dildo of such ridiculous proportions that a chain leading from just behind the head of it must be hooked to a leather dog collar around RHONDA'S neck, in order to hold it up. FRANCESCO recommends the Crisco as a lubricant, daubs on a bit with a miniature doll's foot, finally indicating that she conceal her pubic hair with a cardboard box, in the manner preferred by famous singing Christians.

RHONDA reaches inside the briefcase and locates her 'SPECIAL ATOMIC GLASSES' (with tiny doll arms reaching out through tiny cardboard boxes), and puts them on.

She reaches in again and finds an artificial hamburger with a red ribbon on it. She mounts it on top of her head, tying the ribbon in a neat bow below her chin. Ready at last, she humps the briefcase vigorously.

RHONDA: (contd.)
I'm gonna put my GLASSES ON, HARRY! I'm gonna put my hair up in a BUN! Then, I'm going FUCK FUCK FUCK! Ha-ha-ha-hahhhhh! Look! See me? See how I got my hair up? Whooo! I'm REALLY DOING IT! Unngh! Unngh!

HARRY:
RHONDA...have you no SHAME! Keep the briefcase closed, for chrissake! All your documents are falling out!

RHONDA: (as over-sized file folders emerge)
Unngh! I'm GOOD! Oh God I'm good! Harder! Faster! Unngh! Unngh! This is TERRIFIC! Boy, I need it so bad...

HARRY:
Those are the Warner Brothers files, aren't they dear? Don't you think there'll be some questions about the condition of the blue paper?

THING-FISH:
Girl! Bes' be careful wit de latch!

RHONDA: (with the handle in her mouth, semi-intelligible)
I'm sucking the handle now, HARRY! Look! Mmmmmm! It tastes GOOD! Mmmmmm! Mmmmmm! The handle! The handle!

HARRY:
Hurt me, OB'DEWLLA! Make me whimper and beg for your tiny rubber love!

After nibbling on it as if it were a giant piece of corn-on-the-cob, THING-FISH hands RHONDA an oversized pink fountain pen with her name on the clip.

RHONDA:
I've got a fountain pen, HARRY! I've got a fountain pen with MY INITIALS on it! I'm putting it in my mouth, HARRY! I'm gonna get it wet! I'm gonna stuff it up my asshole and ride the briefcase again, you disgusting perverted bastard worm! I'm gonna do it! Look, HARRY! Whooo! Unngh! Unngh! God-damit, HARRY! Watch me! This is for your own good!

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

BROWN MOSES: (singing)
Oh-oh! Wait a minute!
What?

What wickedness id dis?
De way you's carryin' on!
Dis pygmy I be clutchin'
Have been lef' out on de lawn!

De daddy were ne-GLIJ-ible,
De mama were de-FLATE-able,
De trauma to de imfunt
Be mostly not ne-GATE-able

Yo' urgin' to be exitin'
Because of dem fla-min-i-go's
Be thoroughly perplexin' him
Because of where yo' petuh goes

If only you been 'siderate
Erbout dis lil' illiterate
I wouldna been trudgin' cross de san'
Fum way down yonder in E-gyp-lan'

Dey callin' me BROWN MOSES,
Fo' dat id sho'ly what I am,
Ancient an' re-lij-er-mus
Solemn an' pres-tig-i-mus
Wisdom reekin' outa me
'Long wif summa dis baby pee
'Minds me of dem River Weeds
'N all dem ignint Bible deeds

Growed up in de Pharaoh place,
Lef' de sucker in disgrace!
Some dem boys refuse to loin
Somthin' smokin': Somthin' boin!

Somethin' borry: Somethin' blue!
Best keeps a lil' paper
In yo shoe!
Hear me when I's tellin' you:
Leavin' de midgit were
WRONG T'DO!

It's a terr'ble thang, done did to him
Left wit de crab-grass
Over his chin!
Sho'ly one day he will grow,
'N put some shit
In yo' sack o' woe

OL' BROWN MOSES now have spoke!
Could ya lends me 'bout a dollar?
I's a tiny bit broke

I likes my wine
I loves my gin
'N fo a lil' collateral,
I'll gives ya HIM!
A lil' collateral,
I'll gives ya HIM!
A lil' collateral,
I'll gives ya HIM!
I said a lil' collateral,
A lil' collateral,
A lil' collateral,
A lil' collateral,
A lil' collateral,
I'll gives ya HIM!
I'll gives ya HIM!

Frank zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve vai (guitar)
Ray white (guitar, vocals)
Tommy mars (keyboards)
Chuck wild (piano)
Arthur barrow (bass)
Scott thunes (bass)
Jay anderson (string bass)
Ed mann (percussion)
Chad wackerman (drums)
Ike willis (vocals)
Terry bozzio (vocals)
Dale bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon murphy brock (vocals)
Bob harris (vocals)
Johnny "guitar" watson (vocals)

Evil prince: (mammified fake-broadway singing)
What is happenin' to me!
An' also to de ol' zom-bie
I used tum know?

Of c'ose dey
Once were so spectaculuhhh!
Now we be
Talkin' de vernaculuhhh!
Dis a strange kind o' reactium
To de pig we et befo'!

I's immune to de re-zease, I s'pose
Fum suckin' up de greeze
Fum de duo-deenum dribblin's
Outa de pig befo'!

I can laugh 'n rub my chin
When my re-zease come rollin' in,
It's jes' like catchin' a second win'!
I feel so gay-y-y-y-y-y!

Some mights refer to me as scum,
'cause where dey all be comin' from


(when de galoot co-log-nuh rushin' down
De plain)
Is underneef some ragg'dy dirt
In de suburbean out-skirt
Of ol' manhattin',
Traffick pattin'
Near de gay white way!

I gets clammy, sayin' 'mammy'
I gets chills all up my spine!
I gets wistful,
Wit a fistful
Of ve-ne-she-um bline!

Jes' like tuggin' on de heart-strings!
Jes' like dem lil' ol' fallin' apart things,
Jes' like whatevuh dat is rotten,
We has sho'ly not fo-gotten
How t'pretend to sing!

Now, deys hope,
We ain't gwine die!
Only de suckers forced t'buy
Dem 'spensive tickets we be sellin' at de do'!
Now we got broadway zombie mammys!
We gots an' ugly, ugly o'phan annie!
An' de traditium will go on, 'n on, 'n on

I loves t'see de, see de zombie fly!
Yes sir!
It sorta makes me, makes ya wanna cry!
'cause we is broadway!
We's expensive,
An' we can't,
I said we can't...
Can't...never
Die!
Can't...never
Die-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!
Yes sir!
You're too kind!

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

HARRY:
JESUS, that was terrific! I've never experienced anything quite like that in a theater before! How 'bout you, RHONDA?

RHONDA:
You're a worm, HARRY. Drop dead. God, you're disgusting! Don't touch me! YUCK! What is this scum on your chest? Did that little rubber MAMMY 'do something' on you?

THING-FISH: (alarmed)
OB'DEWLLA! You lil' vagrant! What you been up to wit de chump over deahh? Lemme see yo' draw's! Uh-HUHHHH! Jes' couldn't hep y'seff, could ya! Pheww! You best be washin' dat thang off, dahlin'! I knows we's sposed ta be un-DESTRUCTABLE, but what you got ripenin' down dere be puttin' us all to DE TEST! Yow!

The EVIL PRINCE tap-dances over to THING-FISH, HARRY & RHONDA.

EVIL PRINCE: (fake Broadway singing)
Pers'nally, dahlin', I found de pre-formnence Wit de brief-case To be un-creedably stim-u-lat-nin'!

RHONDA:
Eat shit, you overbearing male chauvinist member of the scientific community!

THING-FISH:
What a sweet lil' hunk o' heaven she growed up t'be! When she were deflateable, she dint say nothin'...jes kept her face open like dis... waitin' fo de salami dat never 'rived! Now she fuckin' de briefcase, dumpin' de paper all over de flo', hair up in a ugly ol' bun, fountain pen danglin' out her asshole, an' talkin' dirty to a member o' de ROYAL FAM'LY!

Girl! Dis cocksucker mights be EVIL, but he AM a PRINCE! Now he be talkin' de vernak-luh, I's findin' it consid'rubly mo' cornvemient to in- demnify wit his 'point-o-view!

EVIL PRINCE:
Sho' nuff! Um-hmm! Yeah! You a WISE ol' MAMMY! Where you fum, 'rijnlyy?

THING-FISH:
Why...uh...SAINT LOOMIS!

EVIL PRINCE:
Goddam! I knew it! I knew it! I could jes' make it out from yo' renunciation! Sho' get hot down deahh in de summer time!

THING-FISH:
DAT no lie...people be croakin' all over de fuckin' place! I sees y'all like dat sort o' thang...jedgin' fum yo' wa'd-robe, y'all be WELL INTO death 'n pestilence 'n shit! Prob'ly got yo-seff quite some 'spensive educashnin' goin' fo ya!

EVIL PRINCE:
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Heh-heh! Saint Loomis! Damn! Some de ZOMBY-FOLK up de lab-mo-tory got kin deah!

THING-FISH:
Naw! Really? Cain't be!

EVIL PRINCE:
Oh hell yeah! De ugly dead muthafucker on de string deahh...he related to a buncha other ugly dead muthafuckers fum de East Side...'n de curly-headed sho't lil' ugly dead muthafucker wit de dead dog been fuckin' de police commissioner!

THING-FISH:
How you know so much 'bouts what gwine on down deahh, you EVIL COCKSUCKER! Y'all been stayin' quite well un-formed fum bein' in de lab-mo-tory most yo' time!

EVIL PRINCE:
Jes' might distress yo ass to loin dat on de way home fum de SAN QUENTIM 'tater mashin' 'speri- ment, me 'n de country westin muzishnins' drop by de college to receive an honorary degree!

THING-FISH:
You lyin', boy! Dey givin' degrees in 'TATER HUSBANDRY' back de ol' alma-motta!

EVIL PRINCE:
Dat ALL dey givin' any mo'! Muthafuckin' 'TATER HUSBANDRY' be de wave o' de futchum in Saint Loomis! Graduatin' class were over 700, 'n evvy one of 'em dealin' wit dem 'taters like de shrimp-murderers down at Benny-Hanny's!

THING-FISH: (looking down at OB'DEWLLA)
What? Huh? You wanna what? OB'DEWLLA, de PRINCE jes' be shootin' de home-town shit heahh! He ain't gwine give us no mo' provlem! What you mean, girl? Okay, okay! Go 'head 'n fuck de lil' CRAB-GRASS BABY wit de enormous white pompadour! Go on deah. Git down wit yo' nasty lil' ol' degenerate seff!

THING-FISH puts the CRAB-GRASS BABY on the floor and positions OB'DEWLLA over it. He places his foot on OB'DEWLLA'S back and pumps both of them up and down. As the computer- speech drones on, THING-FISH watches the spectacle, commenting...

THING-FISH: (contd.)
Twist 'n shout! Work it on out ('n in)! Hmmm! Get down! Go on! Give him a little shoe! Dat's what Denny be doin'...work on Jumbo evvy time! Go on! Get de lil' pompadour up in de air again! I like dat part! Hmmm! Jes' like de Olympics!

HARRY:
It's-it's fascinating the way things are resolving themselves around here! I-I never would have sus- pected anything like this when we came in!

RHONDA:
Where are your real clothes, HARRY? Are you going back to Long Island like that?

HARRY:
I have nothing to be ashamed of! I have a LOVELY body. Everyone will understand! I've-I've ACCOM- PLISHED something tonight! I really believe that! I've found a sort of fulfilment other men only DREAM about!

RHONDA: (naked, re-stuffing the briefcase)
You've accomplished NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL! You're a MERE WORM...less than that...you're a useless ALL-AMERICAN 'MAN-WORM'! The most disgusting creature on the face of the earth. Phooey on you! Worms like you would be NOTHING without ME and MY KIND! WE are THE FUTURE, HARRY! Not you! WE don't need YOU and YOUR KIND, because OUR KIND is THE BEST KIND!

MAN-KIND is SHIT, HARRY! OUR KIND will get rid of YOUR KIND, just like wiping off this fountain pen, HARRY! Smell it quick, you submissive little cocksucker, 'cause I'm wiping it off... any minute now!

THIS IS SYMBOLISM, HARRY! Really DEEP, INTENSE, THOUGHT-PROVOKING BROADWAY SYMBOLISM! THIS ISN'T 'DREAM GIRLS', HARRY! This is the way it REALLY IS...I'm talking to you, HARRY! WE HATE YOU! WE are MODERN, HARRY! You are not 'MODERN'! Worms are not MODERN!

While YOU became LAWYERS and ACCOUNTANTS, and read PLAYBOY and bought a pipe, WE PLANNED and DREAMED and FUCKED OUR BRIEFCASES while you weren't looking! Yes, HARRY! That's right! And we've actually been able to REPRODUCE OURSELVES THAT WAY...FOR YEARS, HARRY, but YOU NEVER KNEW! Did you? You worm.

We had SPECIAL ATOMIC GLASSES made...by WOMEN OPTOMETRISTS who promised NEVER to TELL!

We learned how to hide SECRET STUFF, wrapped up in the middle of those severe terminal BUNS we wear! Little TRANSMITTERS, HARRY! Little RECEIVERS! Oh...don't pretend to be surprised, HARRY! We even had ROOM LEFT OVER in there for all of our most favorite little embroidered delicate secretly feminine child-like helpless pathetic sentimental totally useless PERSONAL 'GIRL-THINGS' that smell like the stuff they put in the toilet paper. You played GOLF! You watched FOOTBALL! You drank BEER! We EVOLVED! We only look like WANDAS and RHONDAS! We are SUPERB, HARRY! We are SUBLIME! We are perfect in EVERY WAY! And you? What are you? You are the all-American cocksucker...jizzing all over your leather cocksucker costume after beating the snot out of yourself with a rubber MAMMY!

I simply can't respect you, HARRY! You are NO GOOD. Go ahead! Smell the pen! Go on...I'm wip- ing it HARRY...there you go...

Frank Zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve Vai (guitar)
Ray White (guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (bass)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Jay Anderson (string bass)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Chad Wackerman (drums)
Ike Willis (vocals)
Terry Bozzio (vocals)
Dale Bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (vocals)
Bob Harris (vocals)
Johnny "Guitar" Watson (vocals)

NOT REALLY HARRY'S VOICE:
ECUAS-NZBE?

THING-FISH:
Whiff it, Boy! Whiff it good, now! MAMMIES, step forward 'n try t'git on down wit dem BROADWAY ZOMBIES! Dis de closin' numbuh, now! MOSES! Git yo' brown ass ovuh heah! Leave de Co-log-nuh alone fo' a minnit. Whyn'tcha go on 'n cornhole ya' some EVIL PRINCE! I B'lieve he done evolved to de point where he kin hannle it now!

See dat? Uh-huh! Look like he severely enjoyin' it awready! Sound like he enjoyin' it, too! Wuh- Oh! I smells trubba! Look like he got de eeyah- noosht! Ain't no two ways about it.

The MAMMIES dance tangos with the ZOMBIES, (eventually hurling them offstage), the EVIL PRINCE corn-holes RHONDA (who doesn't even notice as she waves her magic-wand fountain pen around for HARRY to follow), THING-FISH snatches up THE CRAB-GRASS BABY and OB'DEWLLA (one in each hand), shaking them like maracas, while twirl-dancing around the yard, HARRY-AS- A-BOY and the ARTIFICIAL RHONDA re-appear, chasing after the infant, QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND corn-holes BROWN MOSES. OPAL rides the bull while FRANCESCO gives her an enema. The nativity box rotates erratically, deli- vering DUTCH MIDGETS who offer onions to the audience.

THING-FISH:
'Fo y'all departs, I jes' wish to say in conclu- sium, as matters o' dis gravity gen'rally re- quire some type o' philosomical post-scription, dat what y'all have witnessed heah tonight were a TRUE STORY - only de names o' de potatoes have been changed to protect de innocent.

GALOOT CO-LOG-NUH! DON'T BUY IT, PEOPLES! Dis have been a public service ernouncemint. Wave good-night to de white folks, 'DEWLLA!

A conga-line is formed. They all exit through the audience, except for FRANCESCO, THING-FISH & SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X' (the CRAB-GRASS BABY has been returned to HARRY-AS-A-BOY and ARTIFICIAL RHONDA).

RHONDA:
This is SYMBOLISM, HARRY!

HARRY:
...not the stuff that 'Freckles' lets out!

RHONDA:
This is SYMBOLISM! Really deep, intense, thought-provoking Broadway SYMBOLISM. Really Modern, HARRY...

HARRY:
Take your hand off that chain, honey!

RHONDA:
Fuck that briefcases...

HARRY:
...not the briefcase...