 White line fever
I got it
Off the children of Captain Beefheart
They'd been locked in the forest
For many years
They could not help it
They were retards
From the Los Angeles district
There was Tim
There was Tim Two
There was Rob
There was Dave the eagle
And the mad Greek woman, The Hydra
It was white line fever
Over and over again
Over and over again
They had us trapped in the hills
Playing their Los Angeles music over and over
It sounded like Amon Duul at first
But in fact it was a plot by three of them
We thought they wore masks
Until we asked them to take them off
They took the trout replica a bit too far
They would copy Darkly My Love
They were cool cats
They were white line fever
They were a bunch of twats
White line fever
White line fever
Often on the beach they would play
For ever and ever
In the sandy surf of L.A. County
One day
They put their sandals on
And decided to go in to Rochdale
They were pretty outta sight
Orpheo, the ancient name from Greece
Orpheo, Tim Presley
How many names did they have?
Nobody knew
Was it Latin?
Was it Yamaha?
Nobody knew
So they traveled like the born again Christians
Or the Jehovah's Witnesses
So they traveled and traveled
Till they reached the holy town of Ro'dale
And Nob End
And Ramsbottom
To find their true wagon, Christianity
They were so happy
They were so happy
They could not describe it themselves
Festivals
Sauna in the hotels
Fantastic views of the English countryside
They were besides themselves with happiness
Their tour guide, Dave
Put a stocking over his head, and you couldn't tell the difference
Following their leader blindlessly and obeying in all goodness
The long trail to the Lancashire hilltops
Happy in their fulfillment
Little did they know they were paying by the minute
For the tape they were wasting
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