Baby Snakes

Warren: Tonight though I, I tell you one thing . . . 'bout these New York crowds . . . some of 'em . . . they, they get too carried away, you know, because they think Frank Zappa is such a . . . a mad man, you know, they come here to . . . to see him go crazy or something, you know . . . they don't realize that it's . . . there's notes involved, you know . . . I told you the first time I met you . . . you remember that, what I said?
FZ: You wanna be in the band?
Warren: No! . . . Well . . . I, I wouldn't do that, man, I would try out for your band . . . but I wouldn't . . .
FZ: I'll try ya out
Warren: I don't sing . . . I'd do anything, you see . . .
FZ: What d'you mean you don't sing?
Warren: I don't sing
FZ: I've heard you singing, you can sing. . . sing something . . . Sing "Baby Snakes"

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

FZ: How 're you doin'?

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,
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:
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:
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:
Look— 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 horns I'll sign . . .
Because I need a beer,
'N it's titty-squeezin' time!

Terry:
Man, you can't fool me . . . you ain't that bad . . .

FZ:
Oh, yeah?

Terry:
Why, 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:
Let's make a deal if you think that's true
I mean, you're supposed to be the Devil so . . .
Whatcha gonna do, huh?

Terry: Now hold on just a second . . . you wanna make a deal with me, hah?
FZ: Yeah!
Terry: Well ah, I don't know man, you know . . . I just don't know about this . . .
FZ: What?
Terry: See, 'cause, uh . . .
FZ: Losing your . . . are you losing your nerve?
Terry: No man, it ain't got nothin' to do with nerve . . . It's got to do . . .
FZ: You're supposed to be the Devil! You're supposed to be bad!
Terry: It's got to do with style, fool! I don't know if you're the right style to get into Hell, you know . . .
FZ: Well, actually, to tell you . . . tell you the honest to God truth, I'm very short on style as a matter of fact . . .
Terry: Yeah, I know . . . that's, that's what makes me wonder.
FZ: But lemme . . . But I have . . . I, I think I have something that you may be interested in . . .
Terry: What is that?

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

Terry: Ooh wee!
FZ: Do you read me devil?
Terry: Oh yeah! What? Am I supposed to be scared, man?
FZ: Oh yeah, Reety aw-righty?
Terry: Oh yeah, that's real tough! I bet you're real bad! Listen fool, you got to prove to me that you're rough enough to get into Hell, that you got the style enough to get into Hell, so start talkin' . . .
FZ: All right, lemme tell ya somethin'.
Terry: All right!
FZ: I'll prove to you that I'm bad enough to go to Hell.
Terry: Yeah!
FZ: Because I have been through it!
Terry: Yeah!
FZ: I have seen it!
Terry: Yeah!
FZ: It has happened to me!
Terry: Yeah!
FZ: Remember, I WAS SIGNED WITH WARNER BROTHERS FOR EIGHT FUCKIN' YEARS!!!
Terry: Tell me about it! Now you're talkin' my language!
FZ: Now how bad is that?
Terry: That sounds good to me, motherfucker! So move right along, tell me what your interests are, you know . . . if we're gonna come to some kind of agreement, I've got to know what you're all about, you know . . . 'Cause I don't know if you're the right cat for the . . . for the place, you know.
FZ: Look . . . lemme tell you what my problem really is, you see.
Terry: Okay . . .
FZ: My problem is that I don't belong anywhere.
Terry: A-ha . . .
FZ: You see . . . I don't even belong where you are, you see.
Terry: I hope not!
FZ: I, I'm a simple person, you know, I have very small desires in life, Titties 'n beer, you know.
Terry: No! What?
FZ: Titties 'n beer!
Terry: No! No man, you're joking . . .
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: What? No!
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: No please . . . No! Not that!
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: Oh no man, no, please, ARGH!
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: No! No! No! No!
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, ti-dit-de-dunt de-dunt de-dunt . . .
Terry: No! Not titties 'n beer!
FZ: Titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer, titties 'n beer . . .
Terry: Oh, I can't stand titties 'n beer! . . .
FZ: Ay-ya hey-yah! Ah-titties 'n beer, ah-titties 'n beer, ah-titties 'n beer, ah-titties 'n . . . (I'M IN YOU!) . . . titties 'n beer . . . (I'M IN YOU!)
Terry: Oh no! No! No! Wait . . .
FZ: Ah! Look at this! What am I gonna do with this thing?
Terry: . . . Wait, wait, please no!
FZ: Hey! Look at this!

Terry:
No! Don't sign it! Give me time to think . . .
Hold on a second, boy . . .
'Cause that's Magic Ink!

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, she 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?
All right!

My baby's got
Jones-crushin' love
Jones-crushin' love (well-ah!)
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
That little girl's got the jones . . . (yeah!)
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 (hey!)
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 rolling
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!
Hey, look out for them the deadly jaws, y'all!
Baby turtle, baby, OOOUUUCH!

Aw, jones, y'all . . .

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)

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

Guy In The Audience: THEY STOLE MY POODLE FROM LAST . . .

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

Listen . . .

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!
(That's right!
And then when she feeds it to you,
You have to eat it!)

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

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!
(That's right!)

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

It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
It's Disco Love tonight
Make sure you look all right
(You look all right, you really do!)

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

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
You ain't been to it

An' I can't get into it
Unless I get out of it
An' I gotta be out of it
To get myself into 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

She looked over at me with a glazed eye
And some bovine perspiration on her upper lip area
And she said . . . and here's what 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 her 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
An' 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
I said . . .

Kiss my aura . . . Dora . . .
That's right!
You know why?
Because obviously it was real angora
And then I said,
Would you all like some more-a?
Right here on the flora?
An' how 'bout you, Fauna?
Do you wanna?

Brian: Frank, Frank . . . up on stage, up on stage, Frank . . .
FZ: What?
Brian: Take me up man, I want . . .
FZ: Take you up?
Brian: Yeah!
FZ: Sure! . . . Wait a minute, now that you're up on stage, what's your name?
Brian: Brian Rivera.
FZ: Are you having an okay Halloween, Brian?
Brian: I'm having an excellent time! Sing for Greenwich, man, Greenwich, Connecticut . . .
FZ: All right now, I'll tell you what, Brian, do you know the words to this song?
Brian: Well, in a way, in a way . . .
FZ: Okay, here's . . . Brian, this is your golden opportunity. This is the Frank Zappa Perform-Alike Contest, and here's what you're going to do: We're gonna play the song again and you're gonna pretend you're me, and you pretend to sing the song and dance all across the stage and give these people a very good Halloween show, would you?
Brian: Right! Yeah! Yeah!
FZ: Okay, ready? Work! Work!

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

Strolled on over, said look here, bum
I got a forty-dollar bill says 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
(Nice . . .)

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
You know, I heard some Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe Humm
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe again
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe again
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe again
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe again
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe again
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe again
Little Dinah-Moe
Little Dinah-Moe again

FZ: Hey! How come you guys aren't singing it? Wait a minute, wait a minute . . .

Dinah-Moe . . .
Dinah-Moe . . .
Dinah-Moe . . .
Dinah-Moe . . .
(That's right!)
Dinah-Moe . . .
Dinah-Moe . . .
Dinah-Moe . . .
(Give me that hat!)
All right!

FZ: All right, all right . . . What? "San Ber'dino"? No, no, not yet. I'll tell you what. Boy is this thing hard to hold on your head! Let's do another song. Here . . .
Guy From The Audience: "San Ber'dino"!
FZ: No no, we'll do that later . . . Hey, thanks, man, you do a pretty good imitation of me. Nice fingernail polish! Really good! Really good! I like that. Let's wait, look at, show the camera, show the camera your fingernails. Very good, nice . . . All right! What's this? Thank you! What? Okay! Thank you! Wait a minute! Ah . . . take these . . . Okay!

(Yeah . . .)

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: Little skinny Terry 'Ted' Bozzio, that cute little drummer! That's right! Terry recently fell in love with a publicity photo of a boy named Punky Meadows . . . (Oh Punky!) Lead guitar player from a group called 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 mad with desire!

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

Patrick: Punky Meadows pouting for you? Hah!
Terry: You mean . . .
Patrick: You bet, sailor!
Terry: You mean he's not . . .
Patrick: I think the guy's gay!
Terry: He's not pouting . . . he's not pouting for me?

His hair's so shiny and it's done real nice
'Til I squirm with ecstasy

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-I, Lord,
I'm fo-o-o-ond of chiffo-on
In a wrist array-ee-ay
Oh oh oh oh!
I-I, I said 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 comin' to the show!