Альбом Frank Zappa

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 parent's 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 accomodate 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 . . .

Hi, it's me, I'm back. This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only . . . if you gotta load or if you 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, a way of life, right, love it . . . This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER

Central Scrutinizer:
We take you now to a garage in Canoga Park

Larry:
(It makes its own sauce . . . if you add water)

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

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 could 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, 'n 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 . . .

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'VE 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 . . .

Mrs. Borg:
Turn it down!
Turn it DOWN!
I have children sleeping here . . .
Don't you boys know any nice songs?

Joe:
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 the . . .

Central Scrutinizer:
The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only. If you gotta load or unload, go to the WHITE ZONE . . .

Joe:
I said the years was rollin' by, yeah
The years was rollin' by . . .

Mrs. Borg:
I'm calling THE POLICE! I did it! They'll be here . . . shortly!

Officer Butzis:
This is the Police . . .

Ms. Borg:
I'm not joking around anymore!

Officer Butzis:
Come out! We have the garage surrounded. Give yourself up. We will not harm you, or hurt you, neither.

Ms. Borg:
You'll see now! There they are, they're coming!

Officer Butzis:
This is the Police. Give yourself up, we will not harm you.

Ms. Borg:
Listen to that mess, would you!

Officer Butzis:
This is the Police. Give yourself up. We have the garage surrounded.

Ms. Borg:
Every day 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 . . .

Officer Butzis:
This is the Police. Come out with your hands up.

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.

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 the way they go
Every day
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 well)
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!
Catholic Girls
(Ma-ma ma-ma-maaah)
OOOOOOH!
Catholic Girls
Yai-ee-ahhh!
(Well well)
Catholic Girls
(Ma-ma ma-ma-ma-mum)
OOOOOOH!
(Ma-ma ma-ma ma-mum)
Catholic Girls
Yai-ee-ahhh!
(Ma-ma ma-ma-ma-mum)
Catholic Girls
OOOOOOH!
Catholic Girls
Yai-ee-ahhh!

Central Scrutinizer:

The is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . .
Joe had a girl friend named Mary.
She used to go to the church club every week.
They'd meet each other there
Hold hands
And think Pure Thoughts

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 . . .

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 get to 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

Larry:

Well you been to Alabama, girl,
'N Georgia too
'N all the boys in the crew
Is bein' good to you
I know you're 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:

I'm into leather . . .

Larry:

That's good!

Road Crew Chorus:

CREW SLUT

Larry:

A lot of the boys in the crew
Love leather . . .

Mary:

And rubber . . .

Road Crew Chorus:

CREW SLUT

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 CREW SLUT

Mary:

Ha ha ha . . .

Larry:

You like that, huh?

Road Crew Chorus:

CREW SLUT

Larry:

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!

Mary:

A present for me?

Larry:

We got a present for you!

Mary:

Whaddya got?
Whaddya gonna give me?

Larry:

It looks just like a Telefunken U-47
You'll love it . . .

Mary:

With leather?

Central Scrutinizer:

Eh errr, eh eh . . . This is 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 . . . I don't know . . . I'll check it out)

Again we see
MUSIC
Causing
BIG TROUBLE!

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.

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...

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

My balls feel like a pair of maracas
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-ee-ai-ee-ahhhh!
Why does it
Why does it
Why does it
Why does it hurt . . . when . . . I
Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?

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 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 hard
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 cryin' 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

Central Scrutinizer:

This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . again. Hi! . . . It's me again, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Joe says Lucille has messed his mind up, but, was it the girl or was it the music? As you can see . . . girls, music, disease, heartbreak . . . they all go together . . . Joe found out the hard way, but his troubles were just beginning . . . his mind was so messed up . . . he could hardly do nothin' . . . He was in a quandary . . . being devoured by the swirling cesspool of his own steaming desires . . . the guy was a wreck . . . so . . . what does he do? For once, he does something SMART . . . he goes out . . . and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover . . . at the First . . . at the Pch . . . hem . . . he goes out . . . and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover . . . at the First Church of Appliantology!

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:


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 out when ya go!

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 acheived
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:

Eh?

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)

L. Ron Hoover:

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
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 . . .

Central Scrutinizer:

This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Joe has just learned to speak German. Now, get this, here's 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 eally exciting . . . and when he sees it, he BURSTS INTO SONG . . .

Joe:

Fick mich, du miserabler hurensohn
Du miserabler hurensohn
Fick mich, du miserabler hurensohn
Streck ihn aus
Streck aus deinem heiЯen gelockten
Streck ihn aus
Streck aus deinem heiЯen gelockten
Streck ihn aus
Streck aus deinem heiЯen 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!

Sy Borg:

Pick me . . . I'm clean . . . I am also programmed for conversational English.

May I have this dance?

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), squirts (squirts), squirts (squirts)
Fire
Till it squirts (squirts), squirts (squirts), 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

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?
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 are going back to the apartment to have a little party . . .

Joe:

Sy Borg
Gimme dat, gimme dat
Sy Borg
Gimme dat, give me the chromium leg,
I beg
Sy Borg
Gimme dat, gimme dat
Sy Borg
Gimme dat, give me the chromium leg,
Little wires, pliers, tires
They turn me on
Maybe I'm crazy
Maybe I'm crazy
Maybe I'm crazy, mon . . .

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?

Central Scrutinizer:

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

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...

Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (rhythm guitar, vocals)
Ray White (rhythm guitar, vocals)
Bobby Martin (keyboards, vocals)
Alan Zavod (keyboards)
Scott Thunes (bass)
Chad Wackerman (drums)

"Hi-ho Silver!"
Way!

Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy

Roll it over 'n
grease it down
I'll drive you through
the heart of town

Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy

Roll it over 'n
grease it down
I'll drive you through
the heart of town
"Hi-ho Silver!"

Hey, the good women,
they sure has it tough
The good men, well
there just ain't enough
All the good girls are
lookin' all the time
Good silver 's
something that
they can't find
'Cause if they
find one miraculously
They try to be lovin'
as they can be
'Cause if they find
one and let him go
Chances are they
might not never find
one no mo'

So they
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Way!
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy

Roll it over 'n
grease it down
I'll drive you through
the heart of town

A good lovin' man
is hardest to find
A good woman needs
to ease her mind
And I know a few that
need to ease it behind
All y'gotta do is
grease it down
'N everything is fine

Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy

Roll it over 'n grease
it down
I'll drive you through
the heart of town

A girl don't need
No fancy grease
To get herself
Some rump release
Any kind
Of lube 'll do
Maybe from another
Part of you
Lube from the North
Lube from the South
Take a little slobber
"Hi-ho Silver!"
From the side of
your mouth
From your mouth
From your mouth
From your mouth
From your mouth
...
Grease it down
Here come that crazy
Screamin' sound...

"Hi-ho Silver!"
"Thank you, Masked Man!"
"Hi-ho Silver!"
...

Ok: everybody!
"Hi-ho Silver!"

Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Roll it over 'n grease it
down, down, down
Grease it down...
Oh no no no! Here comes
that screamin' sound
again...

Joe:


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-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 . . .

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 other's dick
But that was only 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 . . .

Joe:

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.

Central Scrutinizer:

This is the 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.
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 . . .

Mrs. Borg 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!
Just 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 . . .

Joe:

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
(I'm really dumb)
Is where you're coming from
And keeping peoples dumb
(I'm really 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 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
(Don't mean your thumb)
So on your knees you bum
Just tell yourself it's yum
(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?

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 . . .

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
(Mind is prehensile)
He'll put down his pencil
(Put down his pencil)
And have himself a squat
On the Cosmic Utensil
(Cosmic Utensil)
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 . . . hah . . . soundin' really good, indeed!
Ah . . . get down . . . UH!
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!

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...Joe has just worked himself into an imaginary frenzy during the fade- out of his imaginary song...He begins to feel depressed now. He knows the end is near. He has realized at last that imaginary guitar notes and imaginary vocals exist only in the imagination of The Imaginer...and... ultimately, who gives a fuck anyway...So...So... Excuse me...So...Who gives a fuck anyway? So he goes back to his ugly little room and quietly dreams his last imaginary guitar solo...

(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...

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 green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A tiny green rosetta
You'll make
a muffin really betta
It's betta
It's really getting betta
It's betta, it's betta
With a green rosetta
Setta, setta
And a green rositti, too
Green rositti
A little green rositti
It's really, really meaty
A little green rositti


You'll make
a muffin really betta
It's betta
(Hey, really out
there...that was
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
You'll make a muffin betta
(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 it's
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
A 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
A little green rosetta
(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
in 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: We'll 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 right 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
(The singer's not too
good, but the musicians
are pretty good)
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
Hey!
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
You make
a muffin betta
With a green rosetta
A little green rosetta
Rosetta, rosetta
rosetta
(etc., etc., etc....)

Al Malkin:
Zetta...