(Frank Zappa, CD, Rykodisc RCD 10577, April 8, 1997)
Produced by Frank Zappa
UMRK Engineer: Spencer Chrislu
Liner notes by Edward Sanders
Cover Art by Ralph Steadman
Package Design by Ferenc Dobronyi
Basic track:
Hammersmith Odeon, London, UK
January 27, 1978
FZ—lead guitar, lead vocals
Adrian Belew—rhythm guitar, vocals
Tommy Mars—keyboards, vocals
Peter Wolf—keyboards, butter
Patrick O'Hearn—bass, vocals
Terry Bozzio—drums, vocals
Ed Mann—percussion, vocals
Napoleon M. Brock—background vocals
André Lewis—background vocals [?]
Randy Thornton—background vocals [?]
Davey Moire—background vocals [?]
Hey there, people, I'm Bobby Brown
They say I'm the cutest boy in town
My car is fast, my teeth is shiney
I tell all the girls they can kiss my heinie
Here I am at a famous school
I'm dressin' sharp 'n I'm actin' cool
I got a cheerleader here wants to help with my paper
Let her do all the work 'n maybe later I'll rape her
Oh God, I am the American dream
I do not think I'm too extreme
An' I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich
(Get a good, get a good, get a good, get a good job)
Women's Liberation
Came creepin' all across the nation
I tell you people, I was not ready
When I fucked this dyke by the name of Freddie
She made a little speech then
Aw, she tried to make me say when
She had my balls in a vice, but she left the dick
I guess it's still hooked on, but now it shoots too quick
Oh God, I am the American dream
(P.U.)
But now I smell like Vaseline
An' I'm a miserable sonofabitch
Am I a boy or a lady . . . I don't know which
(I wonder wonder, wonder wonder)
So I went out 'n bought me a leisure suit
I jingle my change, but I'm still kinda cute
Got a job doin' radio promo
An' none of the jocks can even tell I'm a homo
Eventually me 'n a friend
Sorta drifted along into S&M
I can take about an hour on the Tower of Power
'Long as I gets a little golden shower
Oh God, I am the American dream
With a spindle up my butt till it makes me scream
An' I'll do anything to get ahead
I lay awake nights sayin', "Thank you, Fred!"
Oh God, Oh God, I'm so fantastic!
Thanks to Freddie, I'm a sexual spastic
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now, I'm goin' down
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now, I'm goin' down
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now, I'm goin' down
Record Plant, LA
c. May-June 1976
overdubs:
UMRK
FZ—guitar, bass, keyboards, synth, vocal
Chad Wackerman—drums [overdubbed]
Terry Bozzio—bg. vocal
Davey Moire—bg. vocal
André Lewis—bg. vocal
Roy Estrada—bg. vocal
Sparkie Parker—bg. vocal
Disco Boy
Run to the toilet, honey,
Comb your hair
Disco Boy
Pucker yer lip,
'N check yer shoulder,
'Cause some dandruff might be
Hidin' there!
Disco Boy,
You're the DISCO KING!
Aw, the Disco-Thing
Made you think
Someday,
That you
Just might GO SOMEWHERE!
Disco Girl!
You're 'out-a-site'!
You need a Disco Boy
To treat you right
He'll do a little dance;
Take you home tonight
(Leave his hair alone,
But you can kiss his comb)
Disco Boy!
Run to the toilet boy,
'N comb your hair
Disco Boy!
Shake it more than three times 'n yer playin' with it
(WOW!)
While yer standin' there!
(Well . . . )
Disco Boy!
Do the Bump every night, 'til the Disco Girl
Who's REALLY RIGHT
Gonna fall for yer line,
'N feed you a box fulla
Chicken Delight!
Disco chit-chat; so demure!
Pump that booty all across the floor!
A disco drink
A disco wink
"You never go doody!"
(That's what you think)
"You never go doody!"
(That's what you think)
"You never go doody!"
(That's what you think)
Doody
Ah, go doody
Doody
You never go doody
Disco Boy!
You got one more chance
To comb your hair again
Disco Boy!
They're closin' the bar,
And she's leavin' with your friend!
Disco Boy,
That's the way it goes,
So wipe your nose,
'N try it again,
To get a little laid tomorrow!
Disco Boy,
No one understands,
But thank THE LORD
That you still got hands
To help you do that jerkin' that'll
Blot out yer Disco Sorrow!
(Stroke it!)
It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
includes an excerpt from Doreen and quotations from Mysterioso Pizzicato (Lampe) and maybe Bad Girls (Summer/Esposito/Hokenson/Sudano)
UMRK
July-September 1980; with overdubs from c. 1984
FZ—vocals; kazoo?
Ike Willis—vocals; kazoo?
Ray White—vocals; kazoo?
Bob Harris—vocals; kazoo?
Jimmy Carl Black—voice
Steve Vai—written guitar parts
Tommy Mars—keyboards; vocals?; kazoo?
Arthur Barrow—bass
Chad Wackerman—overdubbed drums
Hob-noblin
Wit de goblin
De Goblin Girl
From da mystery world
Hob-noblin
Wit de goblin
She's black 'n green
'Cause it's Halloween
Raggedy black
Is the way she dress
Little green shoes
'N her hair's a mess
On Halloween night
At de costume ball
She's a Goblin Girl
An' she can gobble it all
She's a goblin
A Goblin Girl
She's a goblin
A Goblin Girl
I been hobblin'
'Cause of the Goblin
Goblin Girl . . . Goblin Girl
Some girls like
To dress like a witch
Some girls like to dress like a queen
Best way a girl
Can dress for me
Is in a Goblin Suit
(They look so cute . . . )
When they're a goblin
There ain't a problin
When they're a goblin
I start a-wobblin'
Pink all over
Some is tan
Goblin Girls
From every land
They look good
From any which-a-way
Every Halloween
You can hear me say:
"Goblin Girl, take it away . . . "
Hob-noblin
Wit de goblin
De Goblin Girl
From da mystery world
De Goblin Girl
From da mystery world
(TRICK OR TREAT NOW . . . )
De Goblin Girl
From da mystery world
(TRICK OR TREAT NOW . . . )
De Goblin Girl
From da mystery world
(TRICK OF TREAT NOW . . . etc.)
Doreen . . . don't make me wait
(How 'bout you?)
Til tomorrow
(Poo-ahh!)
Ohhh-ho no . . .
(Got nothin' fer yer honey?)
Please darling
(How 'bout girls?)
Let me gobble tonight
(Poo-ahh! How 'bout you?)
An' it'll be awright (whooo!)
(Poo-ahh! Sweetheart . . . )
You . . .
(How 'bout you?)
Can't make me say
I won't burble-ble-ble-ble
All over you
(Are you sure?)
My snout
(How 'bout you?)
Is burning with love
And it wants you tonight
(Got nothin' fer yer honey? Poo-ahh!)
I hope you're good and tight
(Are you sure?)
(How 'bout you?)
Talkin' 'bout the bad girls
(How 'bout yer . . . )
All the Goblin Girls
(Are you . . . POO-AHH!)
Talkin' 'bout the bad, bad girls
(Sweetheart)
The little Goblin Girls
(Come on, Roy, right here)
Oh, the bad girls
Some are called Doreen
(How 'bout you?)
Some are dressed in green
They're tricking your treat
But they're bad girls
They're very bad girls
(LEPRECHAUN LIGHT)
(Ay!)
They make your face look like you got scales on it
But that's okay . . .
(LEPRECHAUN LIGHT)
(POO-AHH!)
When the green light shines down
(Ay!)
On the black guys in the band
(LEPRECHAUN LIGHT)
(POO-AHH!)
Everybody in the audience
Thinks they're seeing something
That looks like it's made out of
Fish skin
(Ay!)
(LEPRECHAUN LIGHT)
(POO-AHH!)
But Coy leaves the green gels in the truss
Because he knows the guys in the front
Really enjoy looking like they have
Scales all over their body . . .
UMRK
c. 1981-1984
Johnny "Guitar" Watson—lead vocal
Ike Willis—harmony
Napoleon Murphy Brock—harmony
Ray White—guitar, harmony
Bobby Martin—harmonica solo
Tommy Mars—keyboards
Arthur Barrow—bass
Chad Wackerman—drums
(Mm-hmm . . . yeah . . .)
(Down down down in
Down down down in
Down down down in
Down down down in)
We're playin' in a tent
(Down down down in)
It's payin' the rent
(Down down down in)
If you pooch a civilian,
(Down down down in)
It's a major event
(Down down down in)
Down in France
(Did you hear where that's located?)
Way down . . .
(I say . . . )
In France
(Yeah . . .
Hey, it's the first time you hear som'thn' like . . . )
Way on down
(And then it smells)
Way on down
(Uh down)
In France
(Ain't that som'thn'? Listen . . .)
I say the girls is all salty
(Down down down in)
'N the boys is all sweet
(Down down down in)
I said the food ain't too shabby,
(Down down down in)
An' they piss in the street
(Down down down in)
Down in France
(Ain't that cold?)
Way down . . .
(Hah, say down . . . )
In France
(Now, now, you know what?
I-I saw 'em walkin', it wou-, it would . . . )
Way on down
(And did they say it)
Way on down
(Uh down in France)
Under France
(Oh yeah
Now you won't believe it)
They got the diseases
(Disea-seases)
Like you ain't never seen
(Disea-seases)
I said they got a mystery blow-job
(Disea-seases)
Turn your peter green
(Disea-seases)
Down in France
(Ain't that somethin'?)
Way down
(Say down)
In France
(Say, look, I saw the color
I-i-it looks just like it was . . .)
Way on down
(And then it turned . . .)
Way on down
(That was . . . )
Under France
(Oh yes, it would
Listen
Look!)
They got some coffee,
(Co-co-coffee)
Eatin' right through the cup,
(Co-co-coffee)
An' when you go ka-ka
(Co-co-coffee)
They make you stand up
(Co-co-coffee)
Down in France
(That's where it's located)
Way down . . .
(Uh down . . . )
In France
(No-now, listen
I ka-ka one time and then I heard it)
Way on down
(And then I went . . . )
Way on down
(That was down in . . . )
Under France
(Now listen . . . )
If you're not careful,
(Care-care-careful)
It'll stick to your cheeks
(Care-care-careful)
You'll smell like a native
(Care-care-careful)
For a couple of weeks
(Care-care-careful)
Down in France
(Ooh . . . somethin' smellin', I guess)
Way down . . .
Down in France
(That's where it were
Listen, I-I smelled it, it went . . . )
Way on down
(And then it smelled like . . . )
Way on down
(That was down in . . . )
Under France
(Ooh, smell it in front of him)
(Oh, smell your harmonica
Go on smell it son
Uh-huh . . .
Hold your nose!
Uh-huh, they're comin' too after you)
Now we cannot wait
(Wait wait waiting)
Till we go back
(Wait wait waiting)
Gets so exciting
(Wait wait waiting)
When the poodles 'react'
In France
(Uh-huh, rough)
Way down in France
(I'm talkin' 'bout Bow-Wow
Uh-huh . . . say, they-they're rough)
Way on down
(And then they're kinda . . . )
Way on down
Never try to get yo' peter sucked
In France
(Merci . . . oui . . . OW!)
includes a quotation from Do You Really Want To Hurt Me (Hay/Moss/Craig/O'Dowd)
UMRK
c. 1981-1984
FZ—synclavier, vocals
Ike Willis—vocals
Bob Harris—vocals
Ray White—vocals
Arthur Barrow—synth bass programming
Chad Wackerman—drums
He's so gay
(He's so gay)
He's very very gay
(Yeah . . . )
He's so gay
(He's gay)
And he likes to be that way
(MOO-AHH)
With his keys on the right
He's into rubber every night
He's so gay
(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
(Well well well)
Maybe he wants a little spanking
Maybe he'll eat a little chain
(He'll eat some chain)
Maybe his lover should be thanking him
For the way he makes it sprinkle
Into drops of GOLDEN RAIN
(MOO-AHH,
MOO-AHH,
MOO-AHH)
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!
Mah-mah-mah-mah-mah-mah
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?
(MOO-AHHH!)
UMRK
c. July-October 1982
FZ—Guitar, Vocals, ARP 2600, Linn Drum Machine
Steve Vai—Impossible Guitar Parts (on strat and acoustic)
Ray White—Guitar & Vocals
Roy Estrada—Pachuco Falsettos, etc.
Bob Harris—Boy Soprano
Ike Willis—Bionic Baritone
Bobby Martin—keyboards, Sax & Vocals
Tommy Mars—keyboards
Arthur Barrow—bass
Chad Wackerman—drums
What's the thing that they's talkin' about everywhere?
SEX
When they wanna be suave 'n debonair
SEX
What's poppin' up the most from coast to coast
SEX
At yer bongo party an' yer weenie roast
SEX
Even them Christians who is born again
SEX
Go out 'n get pooched every now 'n' then
SEX
Do ya do or don't ya don't
SEX
Bet yer lyin' if ya say ya won't
Some girls try it 'n go on a diet
Then they worry 'cause they's too fat
Who wants t'ride on an ironin' board?
That ain't no fun . . . I tried me one
Grow that meat all over yer bones
Work the wall with the local jones
'N while you do it, remember this line
The Sniffer says it all the time
"THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION . . . "
Makes no difference if yer young or old
SEX
Don't you act like it's made of gold
SEX
Ladies they need it just like the guys
SEX
Maybe you could use a protein surprise
SEX
Layin' down or standin' up
SEX
You get reals good, just keep it up
SEX
Any time, anywhere
SEX
Why d'ya think it's growin' there?
SEX
Some girls try it 'n they don't like it
They complain 'cause it don't last
Who wants to ride on a debutante?
They talks too much . . . they moves too fast
Watch the scenery while you ride
You can be very warm inside
'N when the train goes 'round the bend
Check the shrub'ry on the other end
"THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION . . . "
"THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION, THE BETTER THE PUSHIN'
THE BIGGER THE CUSHION . . . "
The Palladium, NYC
December 29, 1976
Frank Zappa—conductor, lead guitar, vocals
Ray White—rhythm guitar, vocals
Eddie Jobson—keyboards, violin, vocals
Patrick O'Hearn—bass, vocals
Terry Bozzio—drums, vocals
Ruth Underwood—percussion, synthesizer
David Samuels—timpani, vibes
Randy Brecker—trumpet
Mike Brecker—tenor sax, flute
Lou Marini—alto sax, flute
Ronnie Cuber—baritone sax, clarinet
Tom Malone—trombone, trumpet, piccolo
It was the blackest night
There was no moon in sight
You know the stars ain't shinin'
'Cause the sky's too tight
I heard the scarey wind
I seen some ugly trees
There was a werewolf honkin'
'Long the side of me
I'm mean 'n I'm bad, y'know I ain't no sissy
Got a big-titty girly by the name of Chrissy
Talkin' about her 'n my bike 'n me . . .
'N this ride up the Mountain of Mystery, mystery
I noticed even the crickets
Were actin' weird up here
'N so I figured I might
Just drink a little beer
I said, "Gimme summa that what yer suckin' on . . . "
But there was no reply
'Cause she was gone . . .
"Where's those titties I like so well, 'n my goddamn beer!"
Is what I started to yell, then I heard this noise
Like a crunchin' twig, 'n up jumped the Devil . . .
He's about this big . . .
He had a red suit on
An' a widow's peak
An' then a pointed tail
'N like a sulphur reek
Yes, it was him awright,
I sweared I knowed it was
He had some human flesh
Stuck underneath his claws
You know, it looked to me
Like it was titty skin
I said, "You sonofabitch!"
'Cause I was mad at him,
Well he just got out his floss
'N started cleanin' his fang
So I shot him with my shooter,
Said: BANG BANG BANG
Then the sucker just laughed 'n said:
Terry:
Oh, put it away . . .
You know, I ate her all up . . . now what you gonna say?
FZ:
You ate my Chrissy?
Terry:
Titties 'n all!
FZ:
Well, what about the beer then, boy?
Terry:
Ah . . . Were the cans this tall?
FZ:
Even her boots?
Terry:
Would I lie to you?
FZ:
Shit, you musta been hungry!
Terry:
Yes, this is true.
FZ:
Don't they pay you good
For the stuff that you do?
Terry:
Well, you know
I can't complain when the checks come through . . .
FZ:
Well I want my Chrissy,
'N I want my beer
So you just barf it back up
Now, Devil, do you hear?
Terry:
Blow it out your ass, motorcycle man!
I mean, I am the Devil,
Do you understand?
Just what will you give me for your
Titties and beer?
I suppose you noticed this little contract here . . .
FZ:
Yer goddam right, you
Son-of-a-whore
Terry:
Don't call me that!
FZ:
That's about the only reason I learned writin' for . . .
Gimme that paper . . . bet yer ass I will sign . . .
Because I need a beer,
'N it's titty-squeezin' time!
Terry:
Man, you can't fool me . . . you ain't that bad . . .
I mean you shoulda seen some of the souls that I've had . . .
FZ:
Oh, yeah?
Terry:
Why there was Milhous Nixon 'n Agnew, too . . .
'N both of those suckers was worse 'n you . . .
FZ:
Well, let's make a deal if you think that's true
I mean, you're the Devil so . . .
Whatcha gonna do?
Terry: Wait a minute, a tinge of doubt crosses my mind when you say that you want to make a deal with me.
FZ: That's very, very true.
Terry: Wait, you ain't supposed to wanna make a deal with me.
FZ: Ah, but I'm slightly different than your average customer, Devil.
Terry: But, wait, but most people don't want to make a deal with me. Wha . . .
FZ: I'm only interested in two things, that's titties and beer, you know what I mean?
Terry: What?
FZ: Yeah.
Terry: Titties and beer?
FZ: Titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry: (Growling) Whoa, I don't know if you're the right guy!
FZ: . . . titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry:
No! Don't sign it! Give me time to think . . .
I mean . . .
FZ:
All right!
Terry:
Hold on a second, boy . . .
'Cause that's Magic Ink!
And then the Devil let go of his pickle
'N out jumped m'girl
They heard the titties PLOP-PLOPPIN'
All around the world, she said:
"I GOT ME THREE BEERS 'N A FIST FULLA DOWNS,
AN' I'M GONNA GET RIPPED, SO FUCK YOU CLOWNS!"
Then she gave us the finger,
It was rigid 'n stiff,
That's when the Devil, he farted
An' she went right over the cliff
(Whoa . . . Tinsel Time!)
Well, the Devil was mad
I took off to my pad
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
includes little quotations from Honey Love (McPhatter/Gerald), The Hurdy Gurdy Man (Leitch), Sunshine Of Your Love (Brown/Bruce/Clapton), Purple Haze (Hendrix), Light My Fire (The Doors) and Monday, Monday (Phillips)
Basic track:
Santa Monica Civic Auditorium
December 11, 1981
FZ—guitar, voice
Ike "Thing-Fish" Willis—guitar, voice
Ray White—guitar, voice
Steve Vai—guitar
Tommy Mars—keyboards
Bobby Martin—keyboards, voice
Scott Thunes—bass
Chad Wackerman—drums
Ed Mann—percussion
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
They took a whole bunch of acid
So they could see where it's at
(It's over there, over there,
Over there, over there
And under here also)
Doont, da-doodem doodem!
They lived on a whole bunch of nothing
They thought they looked very good
They'd never ever worry
They were always in a hurry
To convince themselves that what they were
Was really very groovy
Yes, they believed in all the papers
And the magazines that defined their folklore
They could never laugh
At who or what they thought they were
Or even what they thought
They sorta oughta be
They were totally empty
(Totally empty)
And their lives were really useless
So what the fuck?
They didn't have no sense of humor
(Oodly-oodly-yeah!)
Now they got nothing left
To laugh about
Including themselves
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
Bprr . . . bprr . . . the year 1967
Drug-crazed youth discovered vagrancy as a way of life
EWW-WW!
Dey were mellow
Dey were yellow
Dey were wearing smelly blankets
Dey looked like DONOVAN fans
(HU-UR-DE-EE
GU-UR-DE-EE)
Dey walkin' 'round
With stupid flowers
In dey hair an' evvywhere
Dey tried to stuff 'em up de guns
Of all the cops and other servants of the law
(LA LA-LA-LA LA-LA)
Who tried to push 'em around
And later mowed 'em down
But they were full of all that shit
That they believed in
(PHEW!)
So what the fuck?
(WHAT THE FUCK?)
Now I seen 'em tightenin' up dey headbands
On the weekend and dey get loaded
When dey came to town
Dey walk around in GREEMICH VILLAGE
To buy posters dey could hang up
In dem smelly little secret
Black light bedrooms
On LONN-ISLAND
Singin': "JIMI COME BACK!"
Now come back and regulate de boy's FURZ-tone
Yo' HAZE was so PURPLE
It caused your AXIS to be BOLD AS LOVE
(JIMI-JIMI-JIMI-JIMI-JIMI FEED BACK)
Now Jimi gimme some feedback
Come back and feed back on my knapsack
You can feed back the fuzz tone from your WAH-WAH
While you bend down
And set your stuff on FIRE
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
We can turn it around
We can go back in time
We can do it all again
Through the canyons of your mind
On the EVE O' DESTRUCTION
We can act like we are something really special
WOOOH, we'll just jump in the bath-tub
With that other guy JIM
And make him be more careful
We can visit Big Mama
And whap her on the back
When she eats her sandwich
(LA LA LA LA)
We can take care of Janis
When she gets so depressed
She can't take it no more
We can laugh at Keith Moon's jokes
(HA HA HA HA HA)
And the colour TV
(HA HA)
He threw out de windum
Fum de second flew-ah!
(YEAAHHHHHH!)
Everybody come back
No one can do it like you used to
If you listen to the radio
And what they play today
You can tell right away:
All those assholes really need you!
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
Turn turn
Turn turn
We're turning again
The Pier, NYC
August 25, 1984
FZ—lead guitar & vocal
Ray White—rhythm guitar & vocal
Ike Willis—rhythm guitar & vocal
Bobby Martin—keyboards, sax & vocal
Allan Zavod—keyboards
Scott Thunes—bass
Chad Wackerman—drums
Motel room mo-mo-mo-mom mo-mo-mom
Motel room mo-mo-mo-mom mo-mo-mom
Motel room mo-mo-mo-mom mo-mo-mom
Motel room mo-mo-mo-mom mo-mo-mom
Whoever we are
Wherever we're from
We shoulda noticed by now
Our behavior is dumb
And if our chances
Expect to improve
It's gonna take a lot more
Than tryin' to remove
The other race
Or the other whatever
From the face
Of the planet altogether
They call it THE EARTH
Which is a dumb kinda name
But they named it right
'Cause we behave the same . . .
We are dumb all over
Dumb all over,
Yes we are
Dumb all over,
Near 'n far
Dumb all over,
Black 'n white
People, we is not wrapped tight
Nurds on the left
Nurds on the right
Religious fanatics
On the air every night
Sayin' the Bible
Tells the story
'N makes the details
Sound real gory
'Bout what to do
If the geeks over there
Don't believe in the book
We got over here
You can't run a race
Without no feet
'N pretty soon
There won't be no street
For dummies to jog on
Or doggies to dog on
Religious fanatics
Can make it be all gone
(I mean it won't blow up
'N disappear
It'll just look ugly
For a thousand years . . . )
You can't run a country
By a book of religion
Not by a heap
Or a lump or a smidgeon
Of foolish rules
Of ancient date
Designed to make
You all feel great
While you fold, spindle
And mutilate
Those unbelievers
From a neighboring state
TO ARMS! TO ARMS!
Hooray! That's great
Two legs ain't bad
Unless there's a crate
They ship the parts
To mama in
For souvenirs: two ears (Get Down!)
Not his, not hers (but what the hey?)
The Good Book says:
"It's gotta be that way!"
But their book says:
"REVENGE THE CRUSADES . . .
With whips 'n chains
'N hand grenades . . . "
TWO ARMS? TWO ARMS?
Have another and another
Our God says:
"There ain't no other!"
Our God says
"It's all okay!"
Our God says
"This is the way!"
It says in the book:
"Burn 'n destroy . . .
Repent, 'n redeem
'N revenge, 'n deploy
'N rumble thee forth
To the land of the unbelieving scum on the other side
'Cause they don't go for what's in the book
'N that makes 'em BAD
So verily we must choppeth them up
Or stompeth them down
Or rent a nice French bomb
To poof them out of existence
While leaving their real estate just where we need it
To use again
For temples in which to praise
OUR GOD
("Cause he can really take care of business!")
And when his humble TV servant
With white hair
And a brown suit
And maybe a blonde wife who takes phone calls
Tells us it is okay to do this stuff
Then we're supposed to do it,
'Cause if we don't do it,
We ain't gwine up to hebbin!
(Depending on which book you're using at the time . . . Can't use theirs . . . . . . it's all lies . . . Gotta use mine . . . )
Ain't that right?
That's what they say
Every night . . .
Every day . . .
Listen, we can't really be dumb
If we're just following God's Orders
After all, he wrote this book here
An' in the book it says:
"He made us all to be just like Him," so . . .
If we're dumb . . .
Then God is dumb . . .
(An' maybe even a little bit ugly on the side)
DUMB ALL OVER
A LITTLE UGLY ON THE SIDE
DUMB ALL OVER
A LITTLE UGLY ON THE SIDE
DUMB ALL OVER
A LITTLE UGLY ON THE SIDE
DUMB ALL OVER
A LITTLE UGLY ON THE SIDE
includes quotations from All The Way (Cahn/Van Heusen), Jewish Princess, Tarantella Napoletana (Trad.), Vesti la giubba (Leoncavallo) and La donna è mobile (Verdi)
Village Recorders, LA
April-June 1979
FZ—lead guitar, vocals
Warren Cuccurullo—rhythm guitar, vocals
Denny Walley—slide guitar, vocals
Ike Willis—lead vocals
Peter Wolf—keyboards
Tommy Mars—keyboards
Arthur Barrow—bass, vocals
Ed Mann—percussion, vocals
Vinnie Colaiuta—drums, combustible vapors
Dale Bozzio—vocals
Al Malkin—vocals
(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?
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 . . .
They're learning to blow
All the Catholic Boys!
Warren Cuccurullo . . .
Catholic Boys!
Kinda young, kinda WOW!
Catholic Boys!
Vinnie Colaiuta . . .
Where are they now?
Did they all take The Vow?
Catholic Girls!
Carmenita Scarfone!
Catholic Girls!
Hey! She gave me VD!
Catholic Girls!
Toni Carbone!
With a tongue like a cow
She could make you go WOW!
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
She was on her knees
My little Catholic Girl
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)
Bolic Sound, Inglewood, CA
March 19, 1973
FZ—guitar & vocals
Kin Vassy—vocals
Sal Marquez—vocals
George Duke—keyboards & synthesizer
Tom Fowler—bass
Ralph Humphrey—drums
Ruth Underwood—percussion
Tina Turner, Debbie & Lynn (The Ikettes)—backing vocals
I couldn't say where she's comin' from
But I just met a lady named Dinah-Moe Humm
She strolled on over, said look here, bum
I got a forty-dollar bill say you can't make me cum
Y'jes can't do it
She made a bet with her sister who's a little bit dumb
She could prove it any time all men was scum
I don't mind that she called me a bum
But I knew right away she was really gonna cum
So I got down to it
I whipped off her bloomers 'n stiffened my thumb
An' applied rotation on her sugar plum
I poked 'n stroked till my wrist got numb
But I still didn't hear no Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Where's this Dinah-Moe
Comin' from
I done spent three hours
An' I ain't got a crumb
From the Dinah-Moe, Dinah-Moe, Dinah-Moe
From the Dinah-Moe Humm
Got a spot that gets me hot
An' you ain't been to it
(No no no no!)
Got a spot that gets me hot
An' you ain't been to it
(No no no!)
Got a spot that gets me hot
But you ain't been to it
(No no no no no!)
Got a spot that gets me hot
But you ain't been to it
'Cause I can't get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta get out of it
Before I get into it
'Cause I never get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta be out of it
To get myself into it
She looked over at me with a glazed eye
And some bovine perspiration on her upper lip area
And she said . . .
Just get me wasted
An' you're half-way there
'Cause if my mind's tore up
Then my body don't care
I rubbed my chinny-chin-chin
An' said my-my-my
What sort of thing
Might this lady get high upon?
I checked out her sister
Who was holdin' the bet
An' wondered what kind of trip
The young lady was on
The forty-dollar bill didn't matter no more
When her sister got nekkid an' laid on the floor
She said Dinah-Moe might win the bet
But she could use a little ______ if I wasn't done yet
I told her . . .
Just because the sun
Want a place in the sky
No reason to assume
I wouldn't give her a try
So I pulled on her hair
Got her legs in the air
An' asked if she had any cooties in there
(Whaddya mean cooties! No cooties on me!)
She was buns-up kneelin'
(Buns up!)
I was wheelin' an' dealin'
(Wheelin' an' dealin' an' ooooh!)
She surrender to the feelin'
(She sweetly surrendered)
An' she started in to squealin'
Dinah-Moe watched
From the edge of the bed
With her lips just a-twitchin'
An' her face gone red
Some drool rollin' down
From the edge of her chin
While she spied the condition
Her sister was in
She quivered 'n quaked
An' clutched at herself
While her sister made a joke
About her mental health
Till Dinah-Moe finally
Did give in
But I told her
All she really needed
Was some discipline
Kiss my aura . . . Dora . . .
M-M-M . . . it's real angora
Would y'all like some more-a?
Right here on the flora?
An' how 'bout you, Fauna?
Y'wanna?
(Yes . . . )
MMM . . . sound like you're chokin' on somethin'
You know, I'm gonna find me a horse
Just about this big
An' ride him all along the border line
(Yes . . . )
(Do it, Frenchie)
Mmm . . . you like horses?
(It's comin' . . . ah . . .
More . . . )
Did you say you want some more?
Well, here's some more . . .
(Oh, baby . . . )
Oh, sure . . . look,
D'you think I could interest you
In a pair of zircon-encrusted tweezers?
MMM . . . tweezers!
Wait a minute, lemme sterilize 'em . . .
Gimme your lighter . . .
I couldn't say where she's comin' from
But I just met a lady named Dinah-Moe Humm
She strolled on over, said look here, bum
I got a forty-dollar bill say you can't make me cum
Y'jes can't do it
I whipped off her bloomers 'n stiffened my thumb
An' applied rotation on her sugar plum
I poked 'n stroked till my wrist got numb
An' you know I heard some Dinah-Moe Humm
Some Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Some Dinah-Moe
An' a little Dinah-Moe
An' some Dinah-Moe
An' some Dinah-Moe
An' some Dinah-Moe
An' a little Dinah-Moe
An' some Dinah-Moe
An' some Dinah-Moe
An' some Dinah-Moe
An' a Dinah-Moe again
An' Dinah-Moe
An' Dora too, lil' Dinah 'n Dora
Dinah-Moe
An' kiss my . . .
includes references and quotations from The Twilight Zone Theme (Constant), I Write The Songs (Johnston), Too Shy (Limahl/Beggs/Askew/Neale/Strode), Rock You Like A Hurricane (Schenker/Meine/Rarebell), Whip It (Mothersbaugh/Casale), I'll Tumble 4 Ya (Hay/Moss/Craig/O'Dowd), Sunshine Of Your Love (Brown/Bruce/Clapton), Light My Fire (Morrison/Manzarek/Krieger/Densmore), I Love Lucy (Daniel/Adamson) and Woody Woodpecker (Tibbles/Idriss)
The Pier, NYC
August 26, 1984
FZ—lead guitar & vocal
Ray White—rhythm guitar & vocal
Ike Willis—rhythm guitar & vocal
Bobby Martin—keyboards, sax & vocal
Allan Zavod—keyboards
Scott Thunes—bass
Chad Wackerman—drums
From Madam Wong's to Starwood
To the Whiskey on the Strip
You can hear the crashing, blasting strum
Of bands that come to be real hip
And get a record contract
From a talent scout some day
They'll sell their ass, their cocks and balls
They'll take the check 'n walk away
If they're lucky they'll get famous
For a week or two perhaps
They'll buy some ugly clothes to wear
And hope the business don't collapse
Before some stupid magazine
Decides they're really good
They're a Tinsel Town Rebellion Band
From downtown Hollywood
Tinsel Town Rebellion,
Tinsel Town Rebellion Band
It's a little bitty Tinsel Town Rebellion
A Tinsel Town Rebellion Band
They used to play all kinds of stuff
And some of it was nice
Some of it was musical
But then they took some guy's advice
To get a record deal, he said,
They would have to be more punk
Forget their chops and play real dumb
Or else they would be sunk
So off they go to S.I.R. to learn some stupid riffs
(Oh no!)
No!
(No no no no no no)
No!
(It's the 80's again!)
And when they think they've got it
They launch a new career
Who gives a fuck if what they play
Is somewhat insincere
(Let's dance the blues again, get down
Dance the blues again, everybody
Dance the blues again, hey . . .
I write the songs that make the young girls cry!)
Did you know that in Tinsel Town the people down there
Think that substance is a bore
And if your New Wave group looks good
They'll hurry on back for more
Of leather groups
(Eye to eye
Rock you like a nincompoop!)
And plastic groups
(Whip it good!)
And groups that look real queer
(I'll tumble 4 ya!
I'll tumble 4 ya!
I'll tumble 4 . . . )
(Moo moo moo moo moo
Moo moo moo moo moo
Moo moo moo moo moo
Moo moo moo MOO-AHHH!)
The Tinsel Town aficionados
Come to see and not to hear
But then again this system works
As perfect as a dream
It works for all of those record company pricks
Who come to skim the cream
From the cesspools of excitement
Where Jim Morrison once stood
It's the Tinsel Town Rebellion
From down down down
(Down down down)
Town town town
(Town town town)
Holl loll loll
(Holl loll loll)
Lly lly lly lly
Woo-oo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ah-ooh-ah-ooh-ood
Downtown Hollywood!
An incredible ugly little town!
It's really boring!
UMRK
late 1981-early 1982
Moon Zappa—vocal
FZ—guitar, vocals
Scott Thunes—bass
Chad Wackerman—drums
Roy Estrada—vocals
Ike Willis—vocals
Bob Harris—vocals
Ray White—vocals
Bobby Martin—vocals
Valley Girl
She's a Valley Girl
Valley Girl
She's a Valley Girl
Okay, fine . . .
Fer sure, fer sure
She's a Valley Girl
In a clothing store
Okay, fine . . .
Fer sure, fer sure
She's a . . .
Like, OH MY GOD! (Valley Girl)
Like—TOTALLY (Valley Girl)
Encino is like SO BITCHEN (Valley Girl)
There's like the Galleria (Valley Girl)
And like all these like really great shoe stores
I love going into like clothing stores and stuff
I like buy the neatest mini-skirts and stuff
It's like so BITCHEN cuz like everybody's like
Super-super nice . . .
It's like so BITCHEN, like . . .
On Ventura, there she goes
She just bought some bitchen clothes
Tosses her head 'n flips her hair
She got a whole bunch of nothin' in there
Anyway, he goes are you into S and M?
I go, oh RIGHT . . .
Could you like just picture me in like a LEATHER TEDDY
Yeah right, HURT ME, HURT ME . . .
I'm sure! NO WAY!
He was like freaking me out . . .
He called me a BEASTIE . . .
That's cuz like he was totally BLITZED
He goes like BAG YOUR FACE!
I'm sure!
Valley Girl
She's a Valley Girl
Valley Girl
She's a Valley Girl
Okay, fine . . .
Fer sure, fer sure
She's a Valley Girl
So sweet 'n pure
Okay, fine . . .
Fer sure, fer sure
She's a . . .
It's really sad (Valley Girl)
Like my English teacher
He's like . . . (Valley Girl)
He's like Mr. BU-FU (Valley Girl)
We're talking Lord God King BU-FU (Valley Girl)
I am SO SURE
He's like so GROSS
He like sits there and like plays with all his rings
And he like flirts with all the guys in the class
It's like totally disgusting
I'm like so sure
It's like BARF ME OUT . . .
Gag me with a spoon!
Last idea to cross her mind
Had something to do with where to find
A pair of jeans to fit her butt
And where to get her toenails cut
So like I go into this like salon place, y'know
And I wanted like to get my toenails done
And the lady like goes, oh my God, your toenails
Are like so GRODY
It was like really embarrassing
She's like OH MY GOD, like BAG THOSE TOENAILS
I'm like sure . . .
She goes, uh, I don't know if I can handle this, y'know . . .
I was like really embarrassed . . .
Valley Girl
She's a Valley Girl
Valley Girl
She's a Valley Girl
Okay, fine
Fer sure, fer sure
She's a Valley Girl
And there is no cure
Okay, fine
Fer sure, fer sure
She's a Valley Girl
And there is no cure
Like my mother is like a total space cadet (Valley Girl)
She like makes me do the dishes and (Valley Girl)
CLEAN the cat box (Valley Girl)
I am sure
That's like GROSS (Valley Girl)
BARF OUT! (Valley Girl)
OH MY GOD (Valley Girl)
Hi!
Uh-huh . . . (Valley Girl)
My name?
My name is Ondrya Wolfson (Valley Girl)
Uh-huh
That's right, Ondrya (Valley Girl)
Uh-huh . . .
I know (Valley Girl)
It's like . . .
I do not talk funny . . .
I'm sure (Valley Girl)
Whatsa matter with the way I talk? (Valley Girl)
I am a VAL, I know (Valley Girl)
But I live in like in a really good part of Encino so it's okay (Valley Girl)
Huh-ah . . . (Valley Girl)
So like, I don't know (Valley Girl)
I'm like freaking out totally (Valley Girl)
Oh my God! (Valley Girl)
Hi—I have to go to the orthodontist (Valley Girl)
I'm getting my braces off, y'know (Valley Girl)
But I have to wear a retainer
That's going to be really like a total bummer
I'm freaking out
I'm SURE
Like those things that like stick in your mouth
They're so gross . . .
You like get saliva all over them
But like, I don't know, it's going to be cool, y'know
So you can see my smile
It'll be like really cool
Except my like my teeth are like too small
But NO BIGGIE . . .
It's so AWESOME
It's like TUBULAR, y'know
Well, I'm not like really ugly or anything
It's just like
I don't know
You know me, I'm like into like the clean stuff
Like PAC-MAN and like, I don't know
Like my mother like makes me do the dishes
It's like so GROSS . . .
Like all the stuff like sticks to the plates
And it's like, it's like somebody else's food, y'know
It's like GRODY . . .
GRODY TO THE MAX
I'm sure
It's like really nauseating
Like BARF OUT
GAG ME WITH A SPOON
GROSS
I am SURE
TOTALLY . . .
Basic track:
The Palladium, NYC
October 30, 1977
FZ—lead guitar, lead vocals
Adrian Belew—rhythm guitar, vocals
Tommy Mars—keyboards, vocals
Peter Wolf—keyboards, butter
Patrick O'Hearn—bass, vocals
Terry Bozzio—drums, vocals
Ed Mann—percussion, vocals
Napoleon M. Brock—background vocals [?]
André Lewis—background vocals [?]
Randy Thornton—background vocals [?]
Davey Moire—background vocals [?]
Heh heh heh ye-yes!
I want a nasty little Jewish Princess
(La-la-la)
With long phony nails and a hairdo that rinses
(Wee-oo-oo)
A horny little Jewish Princess
With a garlic aroma that could level Tacoma
(FA!)
Lonely inside
Well, she can swallow my pride
I need a hairy little Jewish Princess
(La-la-la)
With a brand new nose
(Oo-ee-oo)
Who knows where it goes
I want a steamy little Jewish Princess
(KSSS!)
With over-worked gums, who squeaks when she cums
I don't want no troll
I just want a Yemenite hole
I want a darling little Jewish Princess
(La-la-la)
Who don't know shit about cooking and is arrogant looking
(Woo-eee-ooo)
A vicious little Jewish Princess
To specifically happen with a pee-pee that's snappin'
All up inside
I just want a Princess to ride
Awright, back to the top . . .
(Hi-Yo, Silver! Away!)
Everybody twist!
I want a funky little Jewish Princess
(La-la-la)
A grinder; a bumper, with a pre-moistened dumper
A brazen little Jewish Princess
(HI-YO!)
With titanic tits
(WHOAH!)
And sand-blasted zits
She can even be poor
So long as she does it with four on the floor
(Vapor-lock)
I want a dainty little Jewish Princess
(La-la-la)
With a couple of sisters who can raise a few blisters
A fragile little Jewish Princess
(HI-YO!)
With Roumanian thighs, who weasels 'n lies
For two or three nights
Won't someone send me a princess who bites
Won't someone send me a princess who bites
Won't someone send me a princess who bites
includes quotations from Catholic Girls and the 3rd Movement "Marche Funebre" of the Sonata No. 2 in B Flat minor (Chopin)
UMRK
c. 1985
Ike Willis—voice
Chad Wackerman—drums
FZ—synclavier
Yo cats, yo yo
Yo chooch, way to go
You is dead, but you don't know
Yo let's carve, hey where's the blow?
Get your fiddle, get your bow
Play some footballs on your hoe
Watch your watch, play a little flat
Make the session go overtime, that's where it's at
Hey, saxophone, clarinet
How many doubles can you get?
Special rules provide the way
To help you maximize your pay
Your Girl, Arlyn's, what's the diff
What's the service that you're with
So long as you can suck the butt
Of the contractor who calls you up
Your career could take a thud
Unless you kneel and scarf his pud
And when the dates come rollin' in
You can wipe your lips and flash a grin
That tells them all at the jingle date
That you enjoyed what you just ate
Yum yum, dog food
Hemorrhoid cream but the bread's so good
New RV and the leisure suit
Hey, I play shit but I love that loot
Thank the union, it's so great
Only a few get to be on the date
Those other schmucks with electric guitars
Got to play for poot in the "B" scale bars
You have made it, you are cool
You have been to the Berklee School
You give clinics on the side
Music has died and no one cried
Yo cats, yo yo
Yo chooch, way to go
You is dead
Hey! Have a nice one, guy!
All compositions by Frank Zappa except as noted