Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)

Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals)

Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals)

Ike Willis (lead vocals)

Peter Wolf (keyboards)

Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals)

Ed Mann (percussion)

Vinnie Colaiuta (drums)



Joe: (clutching the hood ornament of an ancient car)

Maybe you thought I

was the Packard Goose

Or the Ronald

MacDonald of the

nouveau-abstruse

Well fuck all them

people, I don't

need no excuse

For being what I am

Do you hear me, then?



All them rock 'n roll

writers is the worst

kind of sleaze

Selling punk like

some new kind of

English disease

Is that the wave

of the future?

Aw, spare me please!



Oh no, you gotta go

Who do you write for?

I wanna know

I believe you is the

government's whore

And keeping peoples

dumb is where you're

coming from

And keeping peoples

dumb is where you're

coming from

Fuck all them writers

with the pen in

their hand

I will be more

specific so they

might understand

They can all

kiss my ass

But because it's

so grand

They'd best just

stay away

Hey, hey, hey



Hey, Joe, who

did you blow?

Moe pushed

the button boy

And you went

to the show

Better suck a little

harder or the shekels

won't flow

And I don't mean

your thumb

So on your knees

you bum

Just tell yourself

it's yum

And suck it 'till

you're numb



Journalism's

kinda scary

And of it

we should be wary

Wonder what became

of Mary?



And no sooner has he wondered, a vision of Mary appears to him, delivering a little lecture...



Voice Of Mary's Vision:

Hi! It's me...

the girl from the bus...

Remember?

The last tour?

Well...



Information is

not knowledge

Knowledge is

not wisdom

Wisdom is not truth

Truth is not beauty

Beauty is not love

Love is not music

Music is THE BEST...

Wisdom is the domain

of the Wis

(which is extinct).

Beauty is a French

phonetic corruption

Of a short cloth

neck ornament

Currently in

resurgence...



And no sooner has she spoken (which is awkward and probably incorrect but what the fuck), enormous flabby short cloth neck ornaments obscure the horizon in a multitude, beating their ugly wings and working their hidden chrome snap attachments as they resurge in the direction of the White Zone seeking snack material near the Utensil Shrines of Greater America...



Joe:

If you're in the

audience and like

what we do

Well, we want you

to know that we

like you all too

But as for the

sucker who will

write the review

If his mind

is prehensile

(His mind

is prehensile)

He'll put down

his pencil

(He'll put down

his pencil)

And have

himself a squat

On the Cosmic Utensil

(Cosmic Utensil)

Go give it all you got

On the Cosmic Utensil

(Cosmic Utensil)

Sit 'n spin until you rot

On the Cosmic Utensil

(Cosmic Utensil)

He really needs

to squat

On the Cosmic Utensil

(Cosmic Utensil

Cosmic Utensil)



Now that I got that

over with

I'll just play my

imaginary guitar again

Hey...

soundin' pretty good!

Hey...get down, me...

Boy, what an

imagination!

Love myself better

than I love myself...

I think...

What tone!

Sounds like an

Elegant Gypsy!

What is that?

Musk?

It's hip!