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Zappa Frank |
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Miscellaneous |
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Packard Goose |
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Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals) |
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Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) |
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Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals) |
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Ike Willis (lead vocals) |
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Peter Wolf (keyboards) |
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Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals) |
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Ed Mann (percussion) |
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Vinnie Colaiuta (drums) |
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Joe: (clutching the hood ornament of an ancient car) |
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Maybe you thought I |
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was the Packard Goose |
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Or the Ronald |
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MacDonald of the |
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nouveau-abstruse |
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Well fuck all them |
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people, I don't |
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need no excuse |
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For being what I am |
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Do you hear me, then? |
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All them rock 'n roll |
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writers is the worst |
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kind of sleaze |
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Selling punk like |
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some new kind of |
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English disease |
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Is that the wave |
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of the future? |
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Aw, spare me please! |
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Oh no, you gotta go |
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Who do you write for? |
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I wanna know |
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I believe you is the |
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government's whore |
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And keeping peoples |
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dumb is where you're |
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coming from |
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And keeping peoples |
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dumb is where you're |
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coming from |
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Fuck all them writers |
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with the pen in |
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their hand |
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I will be more |
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specific so they |
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might understand |
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They can all |
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kiss my ass |
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But because it's |
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so grand |
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They'd best just |
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stay away |
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Hey, hey, hey |
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Hey, Joe, who |
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did you blow? |
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Moe pushed |
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the button boy |
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And you went |
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to the show |
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Better suck a little |
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harder or the shekels |
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won't flow |
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And I don't mean |
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your thumb |
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So on your knees |
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you bum |
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Just tell yourself |
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it's yum |
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And suck it 'till |
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you're numb |
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Journalism's |
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kinda scary |
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And of it |
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we should be wary |
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Wonder what became |
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of Mary? |
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And no sooner has he wondered, a vision of Mary appears to him, delivering a little lecture... |
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Voice Of Mary's Vision: |
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Hi! It's me... |
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the girl from the bus... |
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Remember? |
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The last tour? |
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Well... |
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Information is |
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not knowledge |
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Knowledge is |
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not wisdom |
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Wisdom is not truth |
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Truth is not beauty |
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Beauty is not love |
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Love is not music |
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Music is THE BEST... |
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Wisdom is the domain |
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of the Wis |
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(which is extinct). |
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Beauty is a French |
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phonetic corruption |
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Of a short cloth |
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neck ornament |
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Currently in |
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resurgence... |
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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... |
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Joe: |
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If you're in the |
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audience and like |
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what we do |
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Well, we want you |
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to know that we |
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like you all too |
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But as for the |
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sucker who will |
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write the review |
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If his mind |
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is prehensile |
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(His mind |
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is prehensile) |
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He'll put down |
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his pencil |
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(He'll put down |
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his pencil) |
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And have |
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himself a squat |
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On the Cosmic Utensil |
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(Cosmic Utensil) |
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Go give it all you got |
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On the Cosmic Utensil |
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(Cosmic Utensil) |
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Sit 'n spin until you rot |
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On the Cosmic Utensil |
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(Cosmic Utensil) |
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He really needs |
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to squat |
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On the Cosmic Utensil |
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(Cosmic Utensil |
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Cosmic Utensil) |
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Now that I got that |
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over with |
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I'll just play my |
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imaginary guitar again |
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Hey... |
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soundin' pretty good! |
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Hey...get down, me... |
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Boy, what an |
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imagination! |
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Love myself better |
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than I love myself... |
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I think... |
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What tone! |
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Sounds like an |
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Elegant Gypsy! |
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What is that? |
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Musk? |
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It's hip! |
