Aston Martin DB9

Frank zappa (guitar, synclavier)
Steve vai (guitar)
Ray white (guitar, vocals)
Tommy mars (keyboards)
Chuck wild (piano)
Arthur barrow (bass)
Scott thunes (bass)
Jay anderson (string bass)
Ed mann (percussion)
Chad wackerman (drums)
Ike willis (vocals)
Terry bozzio (vocals)
Dale bozzio (vocals)
Napoleon murphy brock (vocals)
Bob harris (vocals)
Johnny "guitar" watson (vocals)

Thing-fish:
Now, dis nasty sucker is de respondable party fo de en-whiffment o' de origumal potium. through de magik o' stage-kraff, we be able to see him at woik!

He now be preparin' some ugly shit to make yo' life even mo' mizzable den it awready are, since dis batch be resigned to render him immortal! we does not know if it gwine woik yet, but we kin al
Hope fo' de best!

Thing-fish: (singing)
Flies all green 'n buzznin'
In his dunjing of despair
Prisoners grummle an' piss dey' clothes
'n scratch dey' matted hair
A tiny light fum a window-hole
A hunnit yards away
Is all dey ever gets t'know
'bouts de reg'luh life in de day

An' it stink so bad, de stones been chokin'
'n weepin' greenish drops
In de room where de giant fowah-puffer woikin',
'n de torchum never stops
De torchum never stops
De torchum,
De torchum,
De torchum never stops
(go on, 'dewlla! play dat lil' guitar one mo'gin!)

(spoken)


Uh-oh! i smells trubba! he be messin' wit pigmeat heahhh! muthafucker be rejectin' some co-log- nuh directly into de duo-deenum of de unsuspecting victim! now he gone see if he immune to it by e
A dab hisseff!

(singing)


Flies all green an' buzznin'
In his dunjing of despair
An evil prince eats a steamin' pig
In a chamber, right near dere

He eat de snouts an' de trotters foist!
De loins an' de groins id soon re-spersed
His carvin' style id well re-hoist
He stan' 'n shout:

All main be coist!
All main be coist!
All main be coist!
All main be coist!

An' dis-ergree? well, no one durst...
He de best, of cose, of all de woist
Some wrong been done, he done it foist...
An' he stink so bad, his bones been chokin'
And weepin' greenish drops,
In de vat of galoot co-log-nuh,
Where de re-zease be berlin' up
Berlin' an' uh boilin' up
Co-log-nuh!
Co-log-nuh!
Galoot co-log-uh-nuh!

Thing-fish: (spoken)
Oh! do yoseff a favum 'n don't use it! oooooooh! look at these ugly suckers! boy, when white folks come back fum bein' dead, they sho' gets scary-lookin'! but don't take their appearance too ser
Y, people, 'cause dey say dis de sort o' folks dat belongs on broadway! the broadway zombies collect around the evil prince, who suddenly suspects the presence of an intruder. after taking a lar
Te from an onion he sings...

Evil prince: (singing)
Somewhere, over there, i can tell,
There's a voice of
A potato-headed whatchamacallit
Who does not wish me well!

His clothes are quite stupid,
And also his shoes!
He's got a big ol' duck-mouth!
(who knows how he chews!)

He thinks he knows something
About the great plan!
How ultimate blandness
Must rule and command

He knows not a drop,
Not a crumb,
Not a whit,
Of the reason for doing
This criminal shit
And then, if he did,
Would it matter a bit?
Not at all!
Because it is writ:

Our beige-blandish god
Tends to certify it:

"only the boring and bland shall survive!
Only the lamest of lameness will thrive!"
Take it or leave it, you won't be alive,
If you are overtly creative!

Fairies and faggots and queers are
'creative'
All the best music on broadway is
'native'

Who will step forward
And end all this trouble?
For beige-blandish citizens,
Clutching the rubble
Of vanishing dreams
Of wimpish amusement,
Replaced by a rash
Of 'creative' confusement!
Soon, my brave zombies,
You'll make your return!
Broadway will glow!
Broadway will burn!
(along with the remnants of
Everything new)
My holy disease will do
Wonders for you!
Those lovely producers
Who paid for you 'then'
Will do it again, and again, and again!

Evil prince: (singing to the zombies)
The spying potato
With horrible diction
Will rot in the garbage
When this show's eviction
Takes place shortly after
My alternate skill
Of theatrical sabotage
Triumphs your will!

I've a special review
I've been saving for years
For a show just like this,
With potatoes and queers

I'll say it's disgusting, atrocious, and dull
I'll say it makes boils inside of your skull
I'll say it's the worst-of-the-worst of the
Year,
No wind down the plain, and it's hard on your
Ear
I'll say it's the work of an infantile mind
I'll say that it's tasteless, and that you will
Find
A better excuse to spend money or time
At a tupper-ware party,
So, do be a smarty!
Hold on to that dollar
A little while longer
For spending it here,
Why, it couldn't be wronger!

What's happened to Broadway?
Where's it gone, all the glitter?
The 'heart' and the 'soul'
The patter?
The pitter?

And after this deadly review hits the paper,
In will come roper, bender & raper,
To legally execute all that remains
Of this tragic amusement for drug-addled brains

Thing-fish: (singing)
Flies all green an' buzznin'
In his dunjing of despair
Who are all o' dem zombies
Dat he fuckin' wit down dere?
Are dey crazy?
Are dey sainted?
Are dey stage-kraff someone painted?

It have never been explained,
Since at first it were created,
But, a musical, like we's in,
Require a whole bunch o' everythin'!
We talkin' everythin' dat ever been!
Look at her!
Look at him!

Dat what de deal we dealin' in
Dat what de deal we dealin' in
Dat what de deal we dealin' in
Dat what de deal we dealin' in