Thing-Fish - Drop Dead
Thing-Fish
Drop Dead
21 listopad 1984, 7:56 min.
předchozí skladba | zpět na info o albu | následující skladbaFrank Zappa (kytara, synclavier)
Steve Vai (kytara)
Ray White (kytara, zpěv)
Tommy Mars (klávesy)
Chuck Wild (piano)
Arthur Barrow (basa)
Scott Thunes (basa)
Jay Anderson (string basa)
Ed Mann (perkuse)
Chad Wackerman (bicí)
Ike Willis (zpěv)
Terry Bozzio (zpěv)
Dale Bozzio (zpěv)
Napoleon Murphy Brock (zpěv)
Bob Harris (zpěv)
Johnny "kytara" Watson (zpěv)
HARRY:
JESUS, that was terrific! I've never experienced
anything quite like that in a theater before! How
'bout you, RHONDA?
RHONDA:
You're a worm, HARRY. Drop dead. God, you're
disgusting! Don't touch me! YUCK! What is this
scum on your chest? Did that little rubber MAMMY
'do something' on you?
THING-FISH: (alarmed)
OB'DEWLLA! You lil' vagrant! What you been up to
wit de chump over deahh? Lemme see yo' draw's!
Uh-HUHHHH! Jes' couldn't hep y'seff, could ya!
Pheww! You best be washin' dat thang off,
dahlin'! I knows we's sposed ta be
un-DESTRUCTABLE, but what you got ripenin' down
dere be puttin' us all to DE TEST! Yow!
The EVIL PRINCE tap-dances over to THING-FISH, HARRY & RHONDA.
EVIL PRINCE: (fake Broadway singing)
Pers'nally, dahlin',
I found de pre-formnence
Wit de brief-case
To be un-creedably stim-u-lat-nin'!
RHONDA:
Eat shit, you overbearing male chauvinist member
of the scientific community!
THING-FISH:
What a sweet lil' hunk o' heaven she growed up
t'be! When she were deflateable, she dint say
nothin'...jes kept her face open like dis...
waitin' fo de salami dat never 'rived! Now she
fuckin' de briefcase, dumpin' de paper all over
de flo', hair up in a ugly ol' bun, fountain pen
danglin' out her asshole, an' talkin' dirty to a
member o' de ROYAL FAM'LY!
Girl! Dis cocksucker mights be EVIL, but he AM a PRINCE! Now he be talkin' de vernak-luh, I's findin' it consid'rubly mo' cornvemient to in- demnify wit his 'point-o-view!
EVIL PRINCE:
Sho' nuff! Um-hmm! Yeah! You a WISE ol' MAMMY!
Where you fum, 'rijnlyy?
THING-FISH:
Why...uh...SAINT LOOMIS!
EVIL PRINCE:
Goddam! I knew it! I knew it! I could jes' make
it out from yo' renunciation! Sho' get hot down
deahh in de summer time!
THING-FISH:
DAT no lie...people be croakin' all over de
fuckin' place! I sees y'all like dat sort o'
thang...jedgin' fum yo' wa'd-robe, y'all be WELL
INTO death 'n pestilence 'n shit! Prob'ly got
yo-seff quite some 'spensive educashnin' goin' fo
ya!
EVIL PRINCE:
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Heh-heh! Saint Loomis! Damn!
Some de ZOMBY-FOLK up de lab-mo-tory got kin
deah!
THING-FISH:
Naw! Really? Cain't be!
EVIL PRINCE:
Oh hell yeah! De ugly dead muthafucker on de
string deahh...he related to a buncha other ugly
dead muthafuckers fum de East Side...'n de
curly-headed sho't lil' ugly dead muthafucker wit
de dead dog been fuckin' de police commissioner!
THING-FISH:
How you know so much 'bouts what gwine on down
deahh, you EVIL COCKSUCKER! Y'all been stayin'
quite well un-formed fum bein' in de lab-mo-tory
most yo' time!
EVIL PRINCE:
Jes' might distress yo ass to loin dat on de way
home fum de SAN QUENTIM 'tater mashin' 'speri-
ment, me 'n de country westin muzishnins' drop by
de college to receive an honorary degree!
THING-FISH:
You lyin', boy! Dey givin' degrees in 'TATER
HUSBANDRY' back de ol' alma-motta!
EVIL PRINCE:
Dat ALL dey givin' any mo'! Muthafuckin' 'TATER
HUSBANDRY' be de wave o' de futchum in Saint
Loomis! Graduatin' class were over 700, 'n evvy
one of 'em dealin' wit dem 'taters like de
shrimp-murderers down at Benny-Hanny's!
THING-FISH: (looking down at OB'DEWLLA)
What? Huh? You wanna what? OB'DEWLLA, de PRINCE
jes' be shootin' de home-town shit heahh! He
ain't gwine give us no mo' provlem! What you
mean, girl? Okay, okay! Go 'head 'n fuck de lil'
CRAB-GRASS BABY wit de enormous white pompadour!
Go on deah. Git down wit yo' nasty lil' ol'
degenerate seff!
THING-FISH puts the CRAB-GRASS BABY on the floor and positions OB'DEWLLA over it. He places his foot on OB'DEWLLA'S back and pumps both of them up and down. As the computer- speech drones on, THING-FISH watches the spectacle, commenting...
THING-FISH: (contd.)
Twist 'n shout! Work it on out ('n in)! Hmmm! Get
down! Go on! Give him a little shoe! Dat's what
Denny be doin'...work on Jumbo evvy time! Go on!
Get de lil' pompadour up in de air again! I like
dat part! Hmmm! Jes' like de Olympics!
HARRY:
It's-it's fascinating the way things are
resolving themselves around here! I-I never would
have sus- pected anything like this when we came
in!
RHONDA:
Where are your real clothes, HARRY? Are you going
back to Long Island like that?
HARRY:
I have nothing to be ashamed of! I have a LOVELY
body. Everyone will understand! I've-I've ACCOM-
PLISHED something tonight! I really believe that!
I've found a sort of fulfilment other men only
DREAM about!
RHONDA: (naked, re-stuffing the briefcase)
You've accomplished NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL!
You're a MERE WORM...less than that...you're a
useless ALL-AMERICAN 'MAN-WORM'! The most
disgusting creature on the face of the earth.
Phooey on you! Worms like you would be NOTHING
without ME and MY KIND! WE are THE FUTURE, HARRY!
Not you! WE don't need YOU and YOUR KIND, because
OUR KIND is THE BEST KIND!
MAN-KIND is SHIT, HARRY! OUR KIND will get rid of YOUR KIND, just like wiping off this fountain pen, HARRY! Smell it quick, you submissive little cocksucker, 'cause I'm wiping it off... any minute now!
THIS IS SYMBOLISM, HARRY! Really DEEP, INTENSE, THOUGHT-PROVOKING BROADWAY SYMBOLISM! THIS ISN'T 'DREAM GIRLS', HARRY! This is the way it REALLY IS...I'm talking to you, HARRY! WE HATE YOU! WE are MODERN, HARRY! You are not 'MODERN'! Worms are not MODERN!
While YOU became LAWYERS and ACCOUNTANTS, and read PLAYBOY and bought a pipe, WE PLANNED and DREAMED and FUCKED OUR BRIEFCASES while you weren't looking! Yes, HARRY! That's right! And we've actually been able to REPRODUCE OURSELVES THAT WAY...FOR YEARS, HARRY, but YOU NEVER KNEW! Did you? You worm.
We had SPECIAL ATOMIC GLASSES made...by WOMEN OPTOMETRISTS who promised NEVER to TELL!
We learned how to hide SECRET STUFF, wrapped up in the middle of those severe terminal BUNS we wear! Little TRANSMITTERS, HARRY! Little RECEIVERS! Oh...don't pretend to be surprised, HARRY! We even had ROOM LEFT OVER in there for all of our most favorite little embroidered delicate secretly feminine child-like helpless pathetic sentimental totally useless PERSONAL 'GIRL-THINGS' that smell like the stuff they put in the toilet paper. You played GOLF! You watched FOOTBALL! You drank BEER! We EVOLVED! We only look like WANDAS and RHONDAS! We are SUPERB, HARRY! We are SUBLIME! We are perfect in EVERY WAY! And you? What are you? You are the all-American cocksucker...jizzing all over your leather cocksucker costume after beating the snot out of yourself with a rubber MAMMY!
I simply can't respect you, HARRY! You are NO GOOD. Go ahead! Smell the pen! Go on...I'm wip- ing it HARRY...there you go...
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