Halloween 77

One, two, one, two, three . . .

Good evening. And I do mean good evening. Welcome to Halloween #2, 1977.

How many of you people were at Halloween #1?

Good. Then you already know that that is Patrick O'Hearn on bass. And you also know that that is Adrian Belew on guitar. And you know that that is Tommy Mars on keyboards. And that is little skinny Terry "Ted" Bozzio on drums. And that remains Peter Wolf on keyboards. And of course, last but not least, Ed Mann on percussion. Are you ready?

Oh, I thought you were ready.

 

Flies all green 'n buzzin'
In his dungeon of despair
Prisoners grumble and piss their clothes
And scratch their matted hair
A tiny light from a window hole
A hundred yards away
Is all they ever get to know
About the regular life in the day

An' it stinks so bad the stones been chokin'
'N weepin' greenish drops
In the room where the giant fire puffer works
'N the torture never stops, yeah
The torture never stops
The torture, ooh!
The torture, ah!
The torture never stops

All right, scream right along then!

Slime 'n rot, rats 'n snot
'N vomit on the floor
Fifty ugly soldiers, man
Holdin' spears by the iron door
Knives 'n spikes 'n guns 'n the likes
Of every tool of pain
An' a sinister midget with a bucket an' a mop
Where the blood goes down the drain

An' it stinks so bad the stones been chokin'
'N weepin' greenish drops
In the room where the giant fire puffer works
'N the torture never stops
The torture never stops
The torture, ooh!
The torture, ah!
The torture never stops

Flies all green 'n buzzin'
In his dungeon of despair
An evil prince eats a steamin' pig
In a chamber right near there
He eats the snouts 'n the trotters first
The loins 'n the groins is soon dispersed
His carvin' style is well rehearsed
He stands and shouts
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
And disagree, well no-one durst
He's the best of course of all the worst
(He's the best of course of all the worst)
Some wrong been done, he done it first
(Some wrong been done, he done it first)

An' he stinks so bad, his bones been chokin'
'N weepin' greenish drops
In the night of the iron sausage
Where the torture never stops
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops
Here comes the torture now!

Flies all green 'n buzzin'
In his dungeon of despair
Who are all these people
That he's locked away down there
Are they crazy?
Are they sainted?
Are they zeros someone painted?
It has never been explained
Since at first it was created
But a dungeon just like a sin
Requires naught but lockin' in
Of everything that's ever been
Look at her
Look at him
That's what's the deal we're dealing in
That's what's the deal we're dealing in
That's what's the deal we're dealing in
That's what's the deal we're dealing in

Hey! I'm only fourteen
Sickly 'n thin
Tried all of my life
Just to grow me a chin
It popped out once
Yeah, but my dad pushed it in
Tell me, why did he hurt me?
Lord, he's my next of kin
He's a mex-i-kin

I'm lonely 'n green
Too small for my shirt
If Simmons was here
I could feature my hurt
Scared of the future
'N I hope I don't grow
Listen, nobody likes me
'Cause everywhere that I go
They say no
They say no
They say no
No
They say no

Now I'm older
Got a place in the town, babe
Got a chin on my shoulder
'N it keeps growing down 'n down 'n down
I'm horny 'n lonely
'N I wish I was dead
Somebody tell me
Why am I livin'?
Lord, I wanna be dead instead
That's right, I said
I wanna be dead instead
Now dig this . . .

I wanna be dead
In bed
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Get the picture?)
I wanna be dead
In bed
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Hey!)
I wanna be dead
(Lord! I wanna be dead instead)
In bed
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Be dead in bed, yeah)
I wanna be dead
In bed
(Just as sure as my name is Terry Ted, Terry Ted)
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Kill me)
I wanna be dead
(Thrill me)
In bed
(Fill me)
Please kill me
(With some love)
'Cause that would thrill me
(Kill me)
I wanna be dead
(Thrill me)
In bed
(Wow!)
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me

One more time for the world!

I wanna be dead
(Yeah-hey!)
In bed
(I wanna be dead instead)
Please kill me
(Be dead in bed)
'Cause that would thrill me
I wanna be dead
(Love my little girl)
In bed
(Gimme some head, hey-hey-hey hey-hey . . .)
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
('Cause I'm only fourteen)
I wanna be dead
(Sickly 'n green)
In bed
Please kill me
(Feelin' really lean
I'm in love, see
Ah! Ah!)
'Cause that would thrill me
I wanna be dead
(Too small for my shirt)
In bed
(Feature my hurt)
Please kill me
(Hey-hey!)
'Cause that would thrill me

City of tiny lites
Don't you wanna go
Hear the tiny auto horns
When they tiny blow
Tiny lightnin'
In the storm
Tiny blankets
Keep you warm
Tiny pillows
Tiny tiny tiny tiny sheets
Talkin' 'bout them tiny cookies
That the peoples eat

City of tiny lites
Maybe you should know
That it's over there
In the tiny dirt somewhere

You can see it any time
When you get the squints
From your downers and your wine
You're so big
It's so tiny
Every cloud is silver line-y
The great escape for all of you
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do

City of tiny lites
Don't you wanna go
Hear the tiny auto horns
When they tiny blow
Tiny lightnin'
In the storm
Tiny blankets
Keep you warm
Tiny pillows
Tiny tiny tiny tiny sheets
Talkin' 'bout them tiny cookies
That the peoples eat
That the peoples eat
That the peoples eat
That the peoples eat

And it's over there
And it's over there
And it's over there
And it's over there

GIVE YOURSELF UP
YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED BY POLICEMEN
IF YOU PUT DOWN YOUR GUN AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP
WE GUARANTEE YOU WON'T BE HARMED

BANK ROBBERY REPORTED IN [...]
PROCEED THERE IMMEDIATELY
[...]

New York, New York, New York
I love New York
You're an inspiration to me
New York, New York, I love you, love you, love you . . .

GIVE YOURSELF UP
BANK ROBBERY REPORTED IN [...]
GIVE YOURSELF UP
BANK ROBBERY REP—
GIVE YOURSELF UP
GIVE YOURSELF UP
BANK ROBBERY REPORTED IN [...]
BANK ROBBERY REPORTED IN [...]

All right, all right! It's a new song. The song is about two weeks old. Let me tell you the story of this song. 'Cause all the songs have a story, you know that.

Once upon a time I was being interviewed by these three assholes—these guys were trying to really, I don't know, ask these deep, probing questions. These were three really assholes. These guys were really ass-HOLES. They were trying to ask me these questions, see.

Now, there's all different kinds of interviewers, you know. The worst kind of interviewers, interviewer is the kind of interviewer that brings his girlfriend to the interview, so they— He can go like, "Hey, baby, come with me, I'm gonna go talk to Zappa." All right?

Well I— I did an interview with three of these assholes one time. This is right at the— the beginning of the Women's Movement. Now, see, these guys—they had a little problem. They weren't sure they were gonna get any that night, so they figured that if they said some Women's Movement oriented things to me that they would look good to them, and later on those guys would get together and hey-hey-hey.

However, you know as well as I do, ladies and gentlemen, that this world is infested with bullshit. And these guys—these poor little guys—

Let's see if I can give an example of some of the questions they were asking, you know, like uh— Well, anyway, it was all about the words to my songs, you know, they were— they were coming on like, "Hey, how can you write these sexist lyrics, man? You know, when the Women's Movement and everything," and I was going, "Hey, blow it out your ass! Go talk to Mick Jagger for sexist lyrics."

You know, in a very nice, succinct, kind of quasi intellectual way, I intimated to these young gentlemen that they were barking at the wrong tree, because the words to my songs aren't particularly sexist in either direction. I figured that there's stupid people on either side of the fence and they all need a shag.

And this particular song is dedicated to those three assholes. I've for— taken all of their three whizzing little personalities and melted them down into one character, named Bobby Brown.

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
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

Women's Liberation
Came creepin' 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
But now I smell like Vaseline
An' I'm a miserable sonofabitch
Am I a boy or a lady . . . I don't know which

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 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
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
And my name is Bobby Brown

Watch me now, because the name of this song is "Conehead."

 

This is a song about people who don't do what they're supposed to do. These people are called "flakes." Most of these people live in California. And there's a good reason why they live in California, because everybody in California is there for the purpose of collecting unemployment or going on welfare or both. And so, if anybody does got a job there, they can never do it right. They fuck up all the time. The mechanics can't fix your car, TV rep— TV repairmen always electrocute themselves, and so on and so forth. Fran-fran-fan . . . while I get the guitar ready, and the name of this song is "Flakes."

Flakes! Flakes!
Flakes! Flakes!

They don't do no good
Never be workin'
When they oughta should
They waste their time
They're wastin' mine
California's got the most of them
Boy, they got a host of them

Swear t'God they got the most
At every business on the coast
Swear t'God they got the most
At every business on the coast
They got the Flakes

Flakes! Flakes!

They can't fix your brakes
You ask 'em, "Where's my motor?"
"Well, it was eaten by snakes . . . "
You can stab 'n shoot 'n spit
But they won't be fixin' it
They're lyin' an' lazy
They can be drivin' you crazy

Swear t'God they got the most
At every business on the coast
Swear t'God they got the most
At every business on the coast
(Take it away, Bob . . . )

I asked as nice as I could
If my job would
Somehow be finished by Friday
Well, the whole damn weekend
Came 'n went, Frankie
(You wanna buy an unused copy of Music From Big Pink, Bob?)
But they charged me double for Sunday

Now, you know, no matter what you do,
They gonna cheat 'n rob you
'N then they'll give you a bill
That'll get your senses reelin'
And if you do not pay
They got computer collectors
That'll get you so crazy
'Til your head'll go through th' ceilin'
Yes it will!

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She was my steady date
Until she put on weight

Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Emma
(Dip!
Too-koo-too koo-too-koo
Too-koo-too too-koo-too)

Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Ma-ma-ma ma-ma-ma
Emma
(Dip!
Boogedy boogedy
Boogedy bogedy)

There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
There's a big dilemma
About my Big Leg Emma, uh-huh, oh yeah
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out
She used to knock me out
Until her face broke out

And then I said . . .

Thank you!

All right. The name of this song is "Envelopes." It is what you— It falls into the classification of thoroughly twisted pseudo-love song, featuring the charming voice of Tommy Mars.

You are, are my desire
You come to me
In dreams through a garden wall
It is covered with a lot of dew
And I suppose you're covered too
Just slightly wet
Better yet
You're a stew

You are, are my balloon
You come to me
In dreams through a blue pontoon
It is covered with a lot of dew
And I suppose you're covered too
Just slightly wet
Better yet
Let's go screw

I'm screwing you
I'm screwing you
I'm screwing you
I'm screwing you
Oh boy, I'm doin' it!
I'm really neat
I'm really neat
You're really sweet
You're really sweet

In and out
In and out
In and out
In and out
It's divine
You are mine
You're so fine

Squat on my blaster
Make it go faster
Squat on my blaster
Make it go faster

Zappa!

I dropped my stick.

Yeah!

Disco Boy
Run to the toilet, honey
Comb your hair

Disco Boy
Pucker yer lips
'N check yer shoulders
'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)

Ah, kiss his comb now!

Disco Boy!
Run to the toilet, honey
Comb your hair

Disco Boy!
Shake it more than three times 'n yer playin' with it
(WOW!)
While yer standin' there!

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!

Ah, eat it up now!

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
You never go doody
Doody
You never go doody

ROCK & ROLL!

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 pussy tomorrow!

You can do it, Disco Boy!

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!

Yeow!

It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right

All right!

 

Many well-dressed people
In several locations
Are kissing quite a bit
(Yea-ah!)
Later in the evening
Leaves will fall
Tears will flow
Wind will blow
Some rain; some snow
A fireplace maybe
A kiss or two
And down they'll go
That's the way it goes sometimes
You just might find yerself in the clutches of some
Wild Love

Mama stroked his dinger
Daddy got a stinky finger
In those days of long ago
(Yeah-ah!)
Later in the evening
She'd complain
They'd refrain
He'd go home 'n hone his bone
A tragic case maybe
But also true
I'm sure you know
But that's the way it goes sometimes
You just might find yourself in the clutches of some
Wild Love

Now'days you get dressed up
'N later you get messed up
But still you're pretty hip
(Yeah-ah!)
Later in the evening
You'll explain
She'll remain
You're real modern
She's the same
A frantic pace maybe
But who's to say
Where it will go

It was the blackest night
There was no moon in sight
You know the stars ain't shinin'
'Cause the sky's too tight
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
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:
Put it away . . .
You know, I ate her all up . . . now what you gonna say?

FZ:
You ate my Chrissy?

Terry:
Yeah! Titties 'n all!

FZ:
Well, what about the beer then?

Terry:
Well, now, were the cans this tall?

FZ:
Even her boots?

Terry:
Would I lie to you?

FZ:
Shit, you musta been hungry!

Terry:
Yeah! This is true.

FZ:
Well, 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.

Terry:
Oh, yeah?

FZ:
'N I want my beer,
So you just barf it back up
Now, Devil, do you hear?

Terry:
Listen,
Blow it out your ass, motorcycle man!
I mean, I am the Devil,
Do you understand?

FZ:
Oh, yeah?

Terry:
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
That's about the only reason I learned writin' for . . .
Gimme that paper . . . bet yer horns I'll sign . . .
Because I need a beer,
'N it's titty-squeezin' time!

Terry:
Man, you can't stir me . . . you ain't that bad . . .
Why, you shoulda seen some of the souls that I've had . . .
Man, 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 supposed to be the Devil so . . .
Whatcha gonna do?

Terry: Well, now, wait a minute . . . I don't know if you're the right cat, you know . . .
FZ: Come on, spit it out, boy!
Terry: I don't know, man, uh, you know . . .
FZ: Hey, look, j—
Terry: What— what you're into, man?
FZ: Let me explain it to you very simply:

You can have my soul
It's a mean little sucker
'Bout a thousand years old
But once you get it
You can't give it back
You gotta keep it forever
And that's a natural fact

Terry: Well, hang on just a second now, you know, 'cause, uh . . . now I really don't know if you're the right cat, uh . . . you know . . .
FZ: Hey, look . . . Have I ever lied to you?
Terry: Well, uh, you know . . .
FZ: I mean, would I stir you wrong?
Terry: Now, I don't even know you that long, you know, I have to be careful.
FZ: You know, well, listen, we should get better acquainted, you know? I figure you and me together would make a good team. You know? I mean, I like— I like your style. I like your little mask, I like your horns. You have a very good beat.
Terry: Listen . . .
FZ: You're cute . . . Ha ha ha . . .
Terry: Listen now . . .
FZ: No, I just threw that in there, just to amuse you. You are cute, though. You got a— Let's admit it, you are cute. Here. Hold this. I wanna find out what's on this film, ha ha ha . . . I bet it's really good. Uh, oh, back to the song now. Look. Uh. I wanna go down there, I've heard that throughout literature, there's all these stories about people who make a deal with the Devil, you know, the Devil gets their soul, and as soon as the Devil gets the soul, then of course everything is wonderful, you can have everything you want, everything on Earth is really cool, you know. And all you gotta do is give a guy with a rubber mask your soul. I figure that's a pretty good deal, you know, since I don't believe in any of that shit, so look, let's make a little deal. I'll go down there, sure, I'll play along with the gag. You can have my soul. I'll go down there with you. Only I wanna be able to take some other people with me.
Terry: Who's that, man?
FZ: You know who it is, we— Same as last show. I wanna take everybody who works for Warner Bros. Records.
Terry: And what do you wanna do with them?
FZ: I want all of those guys, all those guys and gals, I want the entire Warner Bros. Communications family, every fucking one of them, down there with me.
Terry: Okay.
FZ: You know, I wanna be able to say with authority, "Get down, Warner Bros."
Terry: Yes, indeed.
FZ: You know what I mean?
Terry: Yeah, uh-huh.
FZ: Okay. Now, while they're down there, I want they should be really comfortable, you know?
Terry: Yeah.
FZ: I think that they should have the best. Only the best. Have you heard of a device called The Tower Of Power?
Terry: Have I heard of a device called The Tower Of Power?
FZ: What?
Terry: You mean— Ha ha . . . You mean that little, uh, wooden spindlely-like object, you know, kinda like a stool with a little anal plug in it that you seat on?
FZ: Yes, precisely the device.
Terry: Yeah.
FZ: Here's what I want you to do. I want you to rig up a bunch of those things, see, but ins— instead of the cute little vinyl—the pink vinyl butt plug, I want you to rig up some nice rusty ones, made up of Carborundum with a hand grenade attached to the top of it that's rechargeable.
Terry: Far out.
FZ: And I want the whole thing to rotate powered by about a thirty horsepower motor, you know, for really consistent ream ability. And I want a Naugahyde detonator. Can you work that out?
Terry: I think it can be arranged, yes.
FZ: Hey, listen, I can just see Mo and Dave Berman squatting on that thing. And then, while they're playing th— the entire Fleetwood Mac songbook, I'll pull the chain and it'll blow up over and over again.
Terry: Yeah. Yeah.
FZ: Can you—
Terry: Real neat.
FZ: You can dig it, right?
Terry: Yeah, I can dig it.
FZ: I knew you'd be into it.
Terry: Yeah.
FZ: And . . . Can I have anything else I want?
Terry: Ah ha ha ha . . . I don't know, man . . .
FZ: I want titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . .
Terry: No, man . . .
FZ: Titties AND beer.
Terry: That's it. No, no . . .
FZ: I want titties . . .
Terry: No.
FZ: And I want beer. I want titties and beer.
Terry: Get away. No, man.
FZ: Titties and beer.
Terry: Forget it.
FZ: I want titties, and beer. I want titties and beer.
Terry: Hold it. I— No, I don't want you now.
FZ: I want lot of titties, and beer.
Terry: No. No contract, man. No deal, wait. Hold it!

Terry:
No! Don't sign it! Give me time to think . . .

FZ: Huh?

Terry:
I mean, hold on a second, boy . . .
'Cause that's Magic Ink!

And then the Devil barfed
'N out jumped m'girl
They heard the titties PLOP-PLOPPIN'
All around the world, she said:

"I GOT 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

The Devil was mad
I took off to my pad
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
Swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
I swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
Swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?

FZ: Okay! Nice tits, by the way. Really nice tits, and a nice shirt. Would you please stand up and show everybody your shirt? That's a smart girl. I mean, she made that shirt herself, I didn't ask her to. That is a homemade shirt. And it really— It says it, you know. It really says, "Warner Bros. Sucks," in case you can't read it. Now, for this part of our program we're going to have audience participation. Not only are we— Hey, listen. Well, I got news for you, you with the three-piece suit. You look very good. I don't know what you're doing here. Wha— What kind of suit is that? What? Naugahyde? It's a Naugahyde three-piece suit? Looks good. Okay. I elect you to be the cheerleader. Stand up. Come 'ere. No. Come 'ere. Come up here! Awright. What's your name?

Will: Will [McC...].

FZ: William, because you're so well dressed and setting such a wonderful example for the rest of the people in this audience here tonight . . .

Will: America . . . America, baby, America.

FZ: That's right. I mean, let's face it, you do look good. And because you look good and you— and because a person who looks that good obviously has to have a lot of natural rhythm, I hereby appoint you as official cheerleader for this part of the program. That means that you have to make these people stay on the beat while they clap their hands. You think you can do it?

Will: Can I do it? You know, I'm here! I've done it, baby.

FZ: All right! I picked the right guy, didn't I? Okay, let's see how you start 'em up . . . Okay, watch out now . . .

Will: Yeah. You've . . .

FZ: All right! Wait a minute, wait a minute. How would you like to have a partner? You want a partner?

Will: Excuse me?

FZ: You want a partner? Want somebody to assist you?

Will: Hey, pick— pick a partner, anybody.

FZ: You. Come 'ere . . . I now pronounce you partners.

Will: Mrs. Lance.

FZ: Okay. Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Lance.

Mary: Mary!

FZ: Mary Lance. Okay? Okay, here's what you guys do. They're gonna play this song, it's called "The Black Page #2." The audience is gonna try and keep a beat. It's not gonna be easy, ladies and gentlemen. It's never easy. I never promised you a rose garden. But concentrate, keep the beat going. These two people are going to actually dance to "The Black Page #2."

Will: There you go!

FZ: That's right! Take it away . . .

One! Two! Three! Four!

Awright! . . . Ha ha . . .

Work out!

Thank you, thank you, thank you . . . Very good, very good. You may— You may take your seats once more. Thank you, Mary. Here, you keep the poodle, it was really good on you.

My baby's got
Jones crushin' love
Jones crushin' love
Jones crushin' love
Well my baby's got
Jones crushin' love
Jones crushin' love
Jones crushin' love
She don't merely fit like a glove
I said, that little girl's got the jones
That little girl's got the jones

She's tryin' to
Grind up my jones
Grind up my jones
Grind up my jones
Well, she's tryin' to
Grind up my jones
Grind up my jones
Grind up my jones
She don't never wanna leave it alone
She can push; she can shove
Till it's just a nub
She can push; she can shove
Till it's just a nub
Just a nub
It's just a nub

Here she comes
With her red dress on
Steam shoots out
From the sprinklers on the lawn
The eyes be rollin'
On the concrete fawn
(Dig it!)
The wind can't blow
'Cause the sky is gone
The wind can't blow
'Cause the sky is gone
The wind can't blow
'Cause the sky is gone
The wind can't blow
'Cause the sky is gone

Jones crusher, jones crusher
Deadly jaws, better get the gauze
She's a jones crusher, jones crusher
Deadly jaws, better get the gauze
She's a . . . mmmh . . . ouch!
Hey, watch out for them the deadly jaws, y'all
Hey, you can tell it, baby, OOOUUUCH!

Oh, jones, y'all . . .

Hey!
Hey! Do you know what you are?
You're an asshole! An asshole!

Some of you might not agree
'Cause you probably likes a lot of misery
Think a while and you will see . . .
Broken hearts are for assholes
Broken hearts are for assholes
Are you an asshole?
Broken hearts are for assholes
Are you an asshole too?
Whatcha gonna do, 'cause you're an asshole . . .

No no no, yeah yeah yeah
I said
You . . . are . . . an asshole!

Maybe you think you're a lonely guy
'N maybe you think you're too tough to cry
So you went to The Grape,
Just to give it a try
And Dagmar
(Some of the ugliest sonofabitch I've ever seen in my life)
Was his name . . .
(With his copper Charlelle)
The whiskers sticking out from underneath of his Pancake make-up
(He's a beautiful lady)
Nearly drove you insane
(Alive and living in leather)
So you kissed a little sailor, didn't you?
Who had just blew in from Spain
(Nice balls, Felix)
You pulled the chain attached to the permanently erected nipples of Jimmy
(Work)
In a bold salute to pain
(Baby buns [...])
You sniffed the reeking buns of Angel
([...] Angel)
And acted like it was cocaine
(Speaking of which, Thursday night . . .)
You were dazzled by the exciting new costume of Ko-Ko
(It's a salute to leather)
In a way you can't explain
(Peruvian leather)
You worked the wall with Michael
(Two-hundred and twenty pounds of Peruvian leather)
Which gave your back an awful strain
(By the name of [...])
But you came back on Sunday for the gong show
(Brother of [...], sister of [...])
But you forgot what I was sayin'
(Of Montana)
'Cause you're an asshole, you're an asshole
That's right
And you're an asshole, you're an asshole
Yes, yes
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
Uh-huh
And you're an asshole, and you're an asshole

Well, now you been to The Chest, been to The Grape
Now I think you know what you are: you're an asshole

You say you can't live with what you've been through
Well, ladies you can be an asshole too
You might pretend you ain't got one on the bottom of you, really!
But don't fool yerself girl
It's lookin' at you
Don't fool yerself girl
It's winkin' at you
Don't fool yerself girl
It's blinkin' at you
That's why I say
I'm gonna ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
([...])
([...])
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Crisco)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Santos)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Reverend Buddy Love)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
(Ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
(Ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poooop chute
(Ay ay ay ay ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer . . .

Ooh, I knew you'd be surprised!

In today's rapidly changing world, rock groups appear every fifteen minutes utilizing some new promotional device. Some of these devices have been known to leave irreparable scars on the minds of foolish young consumers. One such case is seated before you. Watch him drink, watch him eat. Watch him drink and eat and play the drums. Little skinny Terry Ted Bozzio recently felt in love with a publicity photo of a boy named Punky Meadows (Oh, Punky!), lead guitar player from a group called Angel (Angel . . . ). In the photograph, Punky was seen with a beautiful shiny hairdo, in a semi-profile which emphasized the pooched out succulence of his insolent pouting rictus. The sight of which drove the helpless young drummer—and you know this is true—mad with desire!

I can't stand the way he pouts
'Cause he might not be pouting for me!
(I don't think he is because Al says he thinks he's gay.)
What the hell this out of nowhere for [...]
His hair's so shiny and it's done real nice
'Til I squirm with ecstasy!

Punky, Punky, give me your lips
To die on . . .

Oh, Punky, isn't it romantic?

Punky, Punky, give me your lips
To die on . . .
I promise not to come in your mouth
Punky, Punky, your album's the shits
It's all wrong . . .

I ain't really queer
But if he ever got near
Steven Tyler would PAY to see!
Pay to see

Punky's whips, Punky's whips
His hair's so shiny, I love his hips
I love his teeth, 'n his gums 'n such . . .
PUNKY
(What is it?)
You're an ANGEL . . .
(Oh . . . How 'bout a fist?)
You're too much

(The voice of my thoughts
In my lonely teen-age room)
He's been havin' a rash
(No shit)
That keeps the girls away
Skin doom
(Skin doom!)
Is what the doctors say
(And that makes me wonder)

I wonder if Punky is rehearsin' today
I'll just go over, 'n hear him play
His hair is so pretty . . . I'd like to bite his neck
I've heard a rumor he's more fluid than Jeff Beck
But . . .
I AIN'T QUEER
I AIN'T GAY
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array
A wrist array)

Punky's lips, Punky's lips
Oh, I love his hair while eatin' dunk-y chips
Yeah, I love his blink and his blank-blank-blank
Why, maybe he'd like to yank my crank?
YANK IT PUNKY!
YANK IT HARDER!
YANK IT FASTER!
YANK IT ALL NITE LONG!
COME ON PUNKY! GET FUNKY!

I AIN'T QUEER
(NO NO NO NO)
I AIN'T GAY
(NO NO NO NO)
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array
A wrist array)
(And then he told me now:)
I AIN'T QUEER
(Hey!)
I AIN'T GAY
(Hey hey!)
(He's a little fond of chiffon in a wrist array)

I-I
Lord, I'm fo-o-ond
Of chiffo-on
In a wrist array-ay-hey
I-I, I, I
I'm fo-o-nd
Of chiffo-on
In a wri-i-i-ist array
Come on, Punky
Give me your lips
On my penis tip
Ee-ee-ee-eeh . . .

Patrick O'Hearn, Adrian Belew, Tommy Mars, Terry Bozzio, Peter Wolf, Ed Mann. Thanks for coming to the show. And good night!

Thank you!

You don't mind if I get something cold to drink, do you? Is anything out— Is there a Coke or anything around the stage? It's coming? Oh, okay. Wonderful.

That's right, that's right . . . Well, we can't keep you people waiting around forever just because I'm thirsty. Fuck it. Let's go . . .

One, two, three, four!

Couldn't say where she's comin' from
But I just met a lady named Dinah-Moe Humm

Strolled on over, said look here, bum
I got a forty-dollar bill says you can't make me cum
No way! 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

Whipped off her bloomers 'n stiffened my thumb
An' applied rotation to 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, well

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
Got a spot that gets me hot
An' you ain't been to it
Got a spot that gets me hot
You ain't been to it
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 be out of it
To get myself into it
And I can't get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta be out of it
To get myself into it

Sh . . . she . . . she . . . uh . . . she . . . uh . . . she . . . uh . . . uh . . .
She looked over at me with a glazed eye
And some bovine perspiration on her upper lip area
And she said . . . uh . . . she said . . . uh . . .

Just get me wasted
An' you're half-way there
'Cause if my mind's tore up
Well, 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?

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)
She started in to squealin'

Dinah-Moe watched
From the edge of the bed
With her lips just 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
Clutched at herself
Her sister made a joke
About her mental health
Till Until Dinah-Moe finally
Did give in
But I told her
All she really needed
Was some discipline
I said . . .

Kiss my aura, Dora . . .
You're probably wondering why I would say that to a person
Well, the reason is because it's real angora, I don't mess around
Would y'all you all like some more-a?
Right here on the flora?
An' how 'bout you, Fauna?
Do you wanna?

All right. Wait a minute. A little medication here . . . Ah! The American wine!

One! Two! Three! Four!

She had that Camarillo brillo
Flamin' out along her head
I mean her Mendocino bean-o
By where some bugs had made it red

She ruled the Toads of the Short Forest
And every newt in Idaho
And every cricket who had chorused
By the bush in Buffalo

She said she was a Magic Mama
And she could throw a mean Tarot
And carried on without a comma
That she was someone I should know

She had a snake for a pet
And an amulet
And she was breeding a dwarf
But she wasn't done yet
She had gray-green skin
A doll with a pin
I told her she was awright
But I couldn't come in
(Actually, I was very busy then, you know that?)

And so she wandered through the door-way
Just like a shadow from the tomb
She said her stereo was four-way
An' I'd just love it in her room

Well, I was born to have adventure
So I just followed up the steps
Right past her fuming incense stencher
To where she hung her castanets

She stripped away her rancid poncho
An' laid out naked by the door
We did it till we were un-concho
An' it was useless any more

She had a snake for a pet
And an amulet
And she was breeding a dwarf
But she wasn't done yet
She had gray-green skin
A doll with a pin
I told her she was awright
But I couldn't come in
(Is that a real poncho or a Sears poncho?)

And so she wandered through the door-way
Just sort of like a shadow from the tomb
She said her stereo was four-way
An', oh God, I would just love it up in her room

Well, I was born to have adventure
(That's right!)
So I just followed up the steps
Right past her fuming incense stencher
To where she hung her castanets

I chewed my way through her rancid panocha
And she laid buck naked by the door
(That's right!)
You know we did till we were un-concho
And it was useless anymore
Yes, it was useless anymore
Mmm, Yes, it was useless anymore . . .

That's right! Thank you, [...]!

Girl, you thought he was a man
But he was a muffin
He hung around till you found
That he didn't know nuthin'

Girl, you thought he was a man
But he only was a-puffin'
No cries is heard in the night
As a result of him stuffin'

Let's cram it right in there!

Nils Lofgren!

Thank you very much
For coming to the concert
Thank you very much
For coming to the concert tonight

Thank you very much again
For coming to the concert this evening
And thank you once again
For coming to the concert . . .

On behalf of Patrick, Adrian, Tommy, Terry, Peter, and Ed. Good night. One more time, really loud . . .