Halloween 77

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

All right, good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the second show. I suppose you noticed we are making a movie. And I suppose you also noticed that you are in the movie! And you are in the movie! And you're in the movie! And you're in the movie, you're in-in the movie, and you're in the movie, you're in the movie, all of you people are in the movie! That is why the lights just went on, because you are in the movie. This is your movie. Awright! Now, listen . . . Oh, you like that, huh? That's what you want? How 'bout that? Like that? That one? Just that one? How 'bout this one? Like that one? All right.

Want to introduce you to the members of our lovely motion picture team. Phil, Bob and Dick! And, the members of our rockin' teen-age combo. Patrick O'Hearn on bass, Adrian Belew on guitar, Tommy Mars on keyboards, Terry Bozzio on drums, Peter Wolf on keyboards, Ed Mann on percussion. And what's my name? . . . What's my name? . . . And what's my name? . . . And what's my name? . . . Awright!

I may be wrong, but I think you are ready . . . And therefore, we shall begin . . .

 

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
The torture never stops
(That stuff is not good for you!)
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops

Happy Halloween!

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, yeah
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops

Turn all [...] up! Scream right along!

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
(Did you know that?)
He stands and shouts
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
(That's right!)
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

All right, it's torture time, ladies and gentlemen!

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
(Hey!)
'Cause that would thrill me
I wanna be dead
(I wanna be dead instead)
In bed
Please kill me
'Cause that would thrill me
(Be dead in bed, yeah)
I wanna be dead
(Ow . . . )
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
(Yea-ah-ow!)
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)
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
Ow!)
'Cause that would thrill me
I wanna be dead
(Too small for my shirt)
In bed
(Feature my hurt)
Please kill me
(Yeah-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
Hey, 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
Hey, 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
It's over there

 

AwrightAll right! That's right! That's right. All right. And that's right. And all right. That's right. Or as they say in the world of rock & roll, ROCK & ROLL! Okay. Check this out. This is a story for you. Wait a minute, story time. This is the story of the three assholes. Some of you people already know the story of the three assholes. As a matter of fact, two or three of the assholes might even be in the audience tonight, you can never be sure. There one— No, you aren't one of them. Let me tell you. These— Let me tell you about these assholes—they were crumpet munchers, you know what I mean? The worst kind of assholes.

These three assholes came to interview me at the hotel room one time, you know? Only they needed to bring their girlfriends along, to impress them, you know? It's always important to impress your girlfriend. And you'll notice that whenever I get really sincere I take my glasses off just like they do on television. So, you'll understand that when I really MEAN IT, then you get it like that, all right? Now, these assholes brought their girlfriends to the hotel while they were going to interview me.

Why were these people assholes, you might ask, you know? I'll tell you why they were assholes, because they wanted to impress those girls, and not only that, their fucking girlfriends were assholes too. They were all a bunch of crumpet munchers, everyone of them. Probably by the time they got done interviewing me they went home and fed crumpets to each other, oh, I— Some of the perverted things that people do after interview me I just can't even believe it. You see, I'm regular, I'm normal, I'm a nice person, and these assholes, they come over and start talking to me, asking me stupid questions, you know? What? I'm an asshole too, so are you, what's the difference? Now, look. Except I am not a crumpet muncher. If there's one thing that I can say, I haven't the slightest trace of English blood in me. That's for goddamn sure. Now, listen. And that's probably why I never had a hit.

However, these three assholes came over there and they wanted to interview me, see? And they brought their girlfriends along because they wanted to let their girlfriends know that they were . . . (assholes!) No, worst than that! Worst than— Worst than being mere assholes, they wanted their girlfriends to know that they were into the Women's Movement . . .

Hey, now, look! Don't get the wrong idea, ladies and gentlemen! The women's struggle is a very important struggle. However, let's face it, the female species is divided into three main segments. These segments are the girl—the girl is a kind of a person that wears metallic green fingernail polish and silver eyeshadow, and doesn't ever cut her toenails. And she goes to a lot of rock concerts—probably she's over at a Kiss concert right now. Those are girls.

Then, the next phase—you got ladies, you see? Now, a lady is a person that used to be a girl, but as she got older she put on some white gloves, eats fried chicken with the gloves on, and went and got a nice hairdo. Now, that's a lady.

Then, last but not least, you've ha— you've have— pfft, pfft . . . you have women! Now, the problem is that there's very few real women, you see? And the ones that are already women they don't need to be liberated, you know? They know what's going on, they got their own little thing going. You've run into a very difficult philosophical problem here. Do you really wanna liberate somebody who's got green metallic fingernail polish? Do you really wanna liberate somebody who's got little white gloves on while she eats fried chicken? Maybe yes, maybe no, but you have to think about it before you turn 'em loose, you know? There's no telling what they'll do once they get out into the world. If somebody does come from a background of a green metallic fingernail polish, once she certainly become a woman, hey, a lot of you men are in for trouble.

Anyway, these assholes came down there with their girlfriends because they wanted to prove to their girlfriends that they wanted to help out. They were into the Women's Movement. They wanted to say "Ms." a lot. They said "Ms." everytime every time the asshole girls sucked 'em off, I know they did. And this song is dedicated to them. And it's dedicated to every asshole in the audience tonight who might have had a similar experience. Any of you guys out there who had the stoop to go along with the gag in order to get laid, this song is for you . . .

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
Gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

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 put 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
We sorta of drifted along into S&M
I can take about an hour on the Tower of Power
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
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
My name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now, I'm goin' down . . .

What? . . . Free the label? . . . Oh, wait a minute, hey, wait a minute, that— Where did you hear about that? D'you know the story of "eat the label"? That's a true story, 'bout the wino . . . Yeah, I know what you're talking about. It's about the wino. Yeah. Ah, no, no. We're not gonna do that song. Hey-hey! No way! No way. I'll tell you, the reason we're not gonna do that song is because we didn't practice it, you know, you can't learn everything, you know. Oh, well. Ah? Hey, wait a minute, what are you saying? What this—? . . . Hey, hey . . . hey . . . One at a time. Now it's my turn. The name of this song is—thank you—"Conehead."

 

Awright. You already know what the story of this song is. This is the song about people who do not do what they are supposed to do. These people are called "flakes." Most of these people live in California, but I found out that some of them have moved back to New York—which is where a lot of them came from to begin with. And it goes like this . . .

Flakes! Flakes!
Flakes! Flakes!

They don't do no good
They never be workin'
When they oughta should
They waste your 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 yer 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
Lyin' an' lazy
They can be drivin' you crazy

Swear t'God they got the most
In every business on the coast
Swear t'God they got the most
In 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
(Can I sell you another harmonica, Bob?)
You know what? This one don't play too good, doesn't it?
And they charged me double for it, too

Well, 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! Yes it will!

Well, 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!
Biggiddy boogedy
Bogedy baggedy)

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! The name of this song is "Envelopes." It is a weird sort of love song. Just for you, because you have the look. You have the look of a person who needs desperately to relate to this particular number. I want you, with the ball, with the short hair, with that nice shirt—that very nice shirt. What is your name? . . . John, this song goes out to you from Tommy Mars. This is a dedication from Tommy to Johnny.

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

Terry'll make it go faster!

Disco Boy
Run to the toilet, honey,
Comb your hair
(That! Your hair!)

Disco Boy
Pucker yer lip,
But 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!
(Really!)

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)
(Kiss a little bit)

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!
(Alive from in the corner, ladies and gentlemen! )

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!
(Thank you)

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!
(Yeah!)

Disco Boy,
That's the way it goes,
So wipe your nose,
'N try it again,
To get a little pussy tomorrow!
(Really, you can do it!)

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!

It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
(That's right!)
It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
(Awright!)

 

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
(Yea-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

GIVE YOURSELF UP
YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED BY PO . . .

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
(Yea-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 the 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:
Hey, you ate my Chrissy?

Terry:
Yeah! Titties 'n all!

FZ:
Well, what about the beer then, boy?

Terry:
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:
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 mask 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 . . .
What, you shoulda seen some of the souls that I've had . . .
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, heh?

Terry: What am I gonna do? Well, man, I don't know, uh, you know . . .
FZ: Think it over, take your time.
Terry: Well, a cloud of doom kind of covers my mind when you talk about you wanting to sign a deal with me.
FZ: That bothers ya, huh?
Terry: Yeah, man, you know, I mean, most people don't want to, you know, so uh . . .
FZ: Well, you seem like a nice enough person, I figured that we could get along right away, you know?
Terry: Well, I don't know, man, you know . . .
FZ: I mean, you seem like, just like any other New Yorker, except your hair is a little shorter.
Terry: I can't hear 'cause of this funny mask . . .
FZ: Oh, you can't hear— Oh, never mind, it wasn't very good anyway. Listen! It's very simple, I don't mind going to Hell so long as I can achieve some of my objectives.
Terry: What is that, man?
FZ: Well, look, I've got some people that I wanna take down there with me.
Terry: Oh, yeah?
FZ: Yep. Can you guess who they are?
Terry: Listen, man, with the overpopulation problem growing everywhere . . .
FZ: I know . . .
Terry: . . . what do you have in mind?
FZ: Hey, look, I wanna take everybody who works for Warner Bros. Records down there with me.
Terry: Oh, man . . .
FZ: Not only that, I wanna do them a favor, since I— Huh? . . . Take [Garci] with ya? No, not him! I'm talking about the people in the office. Mo Ostin, David Berman, the whole legal staff, you know, over Gang, Tyre & Brown, you know, Howard King, all those guys. Really a bunch of assholes. Really a bunch of assholes. I would like to . . . I wanna take all those people down there with me, you know. If I gotta go they're going with me and while they're down there I'm gonna fix 'em up, I'm gonna get 'em some entertainment. If, of course, you will cooperate. Will you work along with the program?
Terry: Well, we'll see, man, you know . . . Like I said, what do you have in mind?
FZ: Okay, once I get 'em down there, I want you to set 'em all up on this device that they call The Tower Of Power. Do you know what The Tower Of Power is?
Terry: Do I know what The Tower Of Power is?
FZ: Yes, do YOU know what The Tower Of Power is?
Terry: Not only is The Tower Of Power a recording group that works for Warner Bros. Records, BUT The Tower Of Power is also a little device which I invented—it's kind of like a mahogany type stool . . .
FZ: You built it?
Terry: Yes, of course, you know, I mean . . . Or I planted the seeds, shall we—
FZ: Uh-huh. Spit it out, boy!
Terry: Shall we say.
FZ: Yeah. Let's hear it.
Terry: Yeah, I planted the seed, you know, which gave the inventor his idea.
FZ: Uh-huh.
Terry: It's kinda like a little, you know, stool type device, you know.
FZ: Right.
Terry: Part good wood.
FZ: Uh-huh.
Terry: It has a little pink anal plug set in the middle of the . . .
FZ: Butt plug, right? Goes right up your butt, huh?
Terry: YEAH!
FZ: That's it. Okay. And that's the way it goes, uh?
Terry: Yeah.
FZ: All right. Now, now that you people know what The Tower Of Power is, the Warner Bros. Tower Of Power that we're gonna use when we get those bastards down there works like this: No soft cushiony, friendly, nice little pink vinyl butt plug, no, no, no.
Terry: Or what?
FZ: I want the new bionic Carborundum butt plug, with a rechargeable hand grenade tip, and a Naugahyde detonator.
Terry: Oh, my God!
FZ: And I want the whole attached to an Evinrude outboard motor, so that it really, really gets the job done.
Terry: Oh, man . . .
FZ: Probably get those guys cleaner than they've been in months. You know what I mean?
Terry: Yeah . . .
FZ: Because those guys are full of shit, and this will take care of 'em.
Terry: Yeah . . . What else, man? What—?
FZ: Okay. You're gonna give me anything I want? While they're getting reamed on this bionic Tower Of Power . . .
Terry: I suppose, you know . . .
FZ: I— Yeah. I want y— I want you to arrange in living octaphonic sound—I want you to arrange it to play the entire Warner Bros. catalog, including the worst of their bogus disco collection.
Terry: Oh, man . . .
FZ: That's right! I want it all playing at once. And then when it— when it really gets loud—when it really gets loud, I want you to turn up just the opening cut of that Black Sabbath album—you know, that goes TA-DAH-DUNN . . . Right. And then pull the string on the Naugahyde detonator and then they all blow up. Got the picture?
Terry: Yeah, I got the picture.
FZ: And then, I want titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: Please . . .
FZ: Titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: No . . .
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: No more . . .
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: No, nothing, forget it . . .
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: No, listen, wait, hold it . . .
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: No, no, no . . .
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n . . .

Terry:
No! Don't sign it then! 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?
Swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?
Swear I do declare!
How did she get back there?

FZ: All right. All right. It is now time once again for audience participation . . . Yes, every audience likes to participate. And you will participate. Yes, you will. Now, here— here's— here's the way it goes. For the last couple of shows, we have been fortunate enough to find in these first few rows people who were, let's say, dance oriented. These people were of the world of dance. Last night, about this time, there was a guy sitting right where you're sitting wearing a beige three-piece suit. And that boy really wanted to dance—I don't know whether he could dance too, but he really wanted to. You're not exactly right. Have to find . . . I— I tell you what. We'll do it by magic. Okay? Wherever the weenie points . . . I just have to see where the weenie wants to go . . . There you are! Hey you, with the white shirt, yes, you, get up here. All right, come on up here . . . What is your name?

Jason: Jason.

FZ: Jason, pleased to meet you. Jason, can you dance?

Jason: Oh, not at all.

FZ: Fantastic. Okay. Since you can't dance too good, I'll tell you what . . .

Jason: [...]

FZ: Sure!

Jason: Jeff.

FZ: Hey, Jeff, come up here. The r— What I was gonna suggest is since Jason doesn't dance too good—don't whop the camera, Jeff—since Jason doesn't dance too good— Do you dance good, Jeff?

Jeff: No, no . . .

FZ: Hey, neither of you can dance. Fantastic. All right . . . Since neither of you can dance we're gonna have to add another guy to this because we've got— I need someone— I need one guy who can dance his ass off . . . Can you dance your ass off? . . . Wait a minute. You can dance your brother's ass off? You can dance your mother's ass off! Get up here! . . . What's your name?

Charlie: Charlie [...], Charlie [...] . . .

FZ: All right, Charlie. Listen, let's call it— We'll call this the guys side, hey. All right. Now, we need some girls . . . Look at this balloon. If there's one thing I go for is art . . . This balloon says, and I quote, "Here's a big nipple, Zappa." Thank you . . . I'll definitely use that later. Now, we need some girls. We need lovely, talented girls who can dance. There is a lovely talented girl if I ever saw one. Get up here. Good thing you're sitting in the front row. What's your name?

Jodie: Jodie.

FZ: Joanie? Okay. Choose youre partner. Pick one . . . And then tell me why . . . Okay, Joanie has picked Jason. Why?

Jodie: Why? 'Cause he looks like me.

FZ: They always do that. When you get married you always gotta go for the one that looks like you, right? Same when we're dancing. Okay. Now we need to get something for the other two guys. Remember, two of them are born losers. Oh, hey. Come on up here . . . So entirely too multi-colored for your own good. What's your name?

Jeanie: Jeanie!

FZ: Oh, Jeanie. Name your poison, Jeanie . . . Jeanie goes with Charlie! Hey, all right . . . That leaves Jeff. What are we gonna do with Jeff? Huh? You? You want Jeff? Well . . . Eh? Only if you really want him. Only if you really want him . . . You're sure? Come on . . . What's your name?

Nancy: Nancy.

FZ: Nancy, Jeff is all yours. Take it away. All right. Now, here's the problem—This is a problem in quantum economics . . . You've got a little beat going on and it's okay—You tap your foot to it, eh?—That's normal, right? Okay, unfortunately in a minute those guys up there are gonna play some stuff that is not normal. You've gotta keep that beat going, so that they can dance to the abnormal part of the music. You understand? The name of this song is "The Black Page #2." One, two . . .

One, two, three, dance!

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
Just a nub

Here she comes
With her red dress on
Steam shoots out
From the sprinklers on the lawn
Eyes be rollin'
On the concrete fawn
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!
Aw, look out for them the deadly jaws, y'all
Hey, do it, baby, OOOUUUCH!

All right!
Hey! Do you know what you are?
You're an asshole! ASSHOLE!

Some of you might not agree
'Cause you probably likes a lot of misery
But 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
(Now [...] judge a homo by his keys . . .)
Was his name . . .
(. . . his scarfs and haircut)
The whiskers sticking out from underneath of his Pancake make-up
(It's Buddy Love [...] Bible)
Nearly drove you insane
(And [...] Sunday I thought might be appropriate)
And so you kissed a little sailor
([...] the late great reverend Love and a couple of other casualties)
Who had just blew in from Spain
(What do you think?)
You pull the chain attached to the permanently-erected nipples of Jimmy
([...])
In a bold salute to pain
You sniffed the reeking buns of Angel
(Mmm . . . What a nice tight rubber box)
And acted like it was cocaine
You were dazzled by the exciting new costume of Ko-Ko
(Nice peels, Felix)
In a way you can't explain
([...])
And so you worked the wall with Michael
(Formerly [...] Number One)
Which gave your back an awful strain
But you came back on Sunday for the gong show
(Crushed velvet or leather)
But you forgot what I was sayin'
(Hah . . . hah . . . hah . . .)
'Cause you're an asshole, you're an asshole
Yes, yes
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
That's right
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
Uh-huh!
You're an asshole, 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
(It's true)
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
(Crisco)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
([...])
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Hah hah . . . Buddy)
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
(Sausage)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
Don't fool yerself, girl
No natural rhythm whatsoever! Fantastic!
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
(Ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl, hey,
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 . . .

I thought you'd be surprised, Brother Love . . .

In today's rapidly changing world rock groups appear every fourteen or 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: Little skinny Terry 'Ted' Bozzio, that cute little drummer! Terry recently fell in love with a publicity photo of a boy named Punky Meadows! Now you listen to him . . . Uh? . . . So what? . . . I can't hear ya, I wish I could. I bet it's really good. Hey, anyway, listen . . . Terry falls in love with a publicity photo of a boy named Punky Meadows, you know? (Oh Punky!) 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—as they say in the trade—mad with desire!

I can't stand the way he pouts
'Cause he might not be pouting for me!

Patrick: Hey, listen, I heard that Punky Meadows does rather X-rated abnormal things with Friskies pet food. Did you know about that?
Terry: What? Punk X-rated . . .?

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 lips
His hair's so shiny,
I love his hips
I love his teeth, 'n his gums 'n such . . .
PUNKY
([...])
You're an ANGEL . . .
(What?)
You're too much
(No . . .)

(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 what 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! You know 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 FASTER!
YANK IT HARDER!
YANK IT ALL NIGHT 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
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-o-ond of chiffo-on
In a wrist array-ee-ay
Oh oh oh oh!
I-I, Lord, I'm fo-o-ond of chiffo-on
In a wri-i-i-i-ist array
Come on, Punky!
Give me your lips!
Right on my penis-tip!

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

All right, all right . . . Thank you. And thank you, what does it say? . . . Mmh . . . This is your— . . . Huh . . . My birthday, 10-25-77. Love your bodddy—with three "ds" . . . Mm-hmm . . . Pardon me. Very dramatic, very dramatic! I must retain this . . . Okay. It's now time to go back to work. It's time for the reason why you all came here—I know you came here for one reason, you came here just to hear this one song. This song—let's face it, this song is a stupid song. What the hey? You can clap your hands to it, though . . .

The name of this song is "Dinah-Moe Humm." 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
(Come 'ere!)

She made a bet with her sister who's a little bit dumb
She could prove it any time all men was scum
(Scum, that's right)

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

Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Where's this Dinah-Moe
Comin' from
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
But 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 get out of it
Before I get into it
'Cause I can't get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta be out of it
Before I get 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
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)
An' 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, she quaked
She clutched at herself
Her sister made a joke
About her mental health
Until Dinah-Moe finally
Did give in
But I told her
All she really needed
Was some discipline
That's why I said . . .

Kiss my aura . . . Dora . . .
It's real angora
Would y'all like some more-a?
Right here on the flora?
An' how 'bout you, Fauna?
Do you wanna?

All right!

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
(What's going on now?)

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 to her sugar plum

I poked 'n stroked till my wrist got numb
An' you know I heard some Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
(How're you doin' tonight?)
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe!
Dinah-Moe!
Moe!
Dinah-Moe!
(At least this one does it on the beat!
How about the rest of you?)
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
(Dinah-Moe)
Dinah-Moe
(Dinah-Moe)
Dinah-Moe
(Dinah-Moe)
Dinah-Moe
(Dinah-Moe)
Dinah-Moe
(Dinah-Moe)
Dinah-Moe
(Dinah-Moe)
Dinah-Moe
(Dinah-Moe)

FZ: Isn't this simplistic? It's so primitive, you know. So primitive yet effectual. Watch my wire, watch . . . Eh . . . wait . . . eh . . . Hey! All right. As if that weren't enough, ladies and gentlemen— What?
Audience member: Dinah-Moe Humm . . . Humm . . .
FZ: What are you sayin'?
Audience member: Dinah-Moe Humm, Dinah-Moe Humm . . .
FZ: Dinah-Moe Humm?
Audience member: Dinah-Moe Humm.
FZ: It's your part of the show now.
Audience member: [...] Dinah-Moe?
FZ: It's Dinah-Moe Humm.
Audience member: Dinah-Moe HUUUUUUUUUUUMMM . . .

In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, baby . . .
Ooo-la hunya . . .

All right, all right . . . Hey, just— I'm just kiddin' ya. All right. Seriously now, hey, bring the band on hah hah boy . . . Hey, you remember that song, don't ya? You're one of the older members of the audience, right? Okay. Just remember one thing. It's true today just like it was ten years ago. Flower Power still sucks. Still does. [...] but . . .

In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida . . .

All right, we are now going into "Camarillo Brillo" and other stuff, so . . . watch!

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
(That's right!)

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 . . . )

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
(Yeah!)
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 camera, or is that a Sears camera?)

And so she wandered right on through the door-way
Just like a shadow from the tomb
She said her stereo was four-way
(I bet it is, I bet it is)
An' I would just love it up in her room

You know, 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

I chewed my way through her rancid panocha
(Do they have that here in New York?)
She laid buck naked by the door
We did it till we were un-concho
An' it was useless any more
Yes, it was useless any more
Yes, it was useless any more
That's why we went into this song . . .

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'
(Now watch!)

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'

All right, ladies and gentlemen, this is without a doubt the end of our program for tonight. We hope that you enjoyed it. And hope to see some of you people back here for Halloween. Don't mangle yourselves on the way out. There is nothing quite like an audience at the Palladium, that's for sure. Good night!