Frank Zappa's 200 Motels

Theodore Bikel:
Ladies and gentlemen

Chorus:
Two Hundred Motels

Theodore Bikel:
Two Hundred Motels
Life on the road!

Theodore Bikel:
Ladies and gentlemen!
And here he is!

Chorus:
Who?

Theodore Bikel:
Larry the Dwarf!

Chorus:
Yay!

Theodore Bikel:
Larry likes to dress up funny. Tonight he's dressed up like Frank Zappa. Let's ask him what's the deal.

Say!

Look out!
Look out!
Look out!

How long?
How long?
Till that mystery roach be arrivin' soon
Yea-ooh, yea-ooh, yea-ooh, yea-ooh

The mystery roach be approachin'
The mystery roach be approachin' me

How long?
How long?
Till that mystery roach been gone
Yea-oooh
Yea-oooh

The mystery roach be approachin'
The mystery roach be approachin' me

The mystery roach be approachin'
The mystery roach be approachin' me

Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!

My name is Burtram
I am a redneck
All my friends
They call me Burt
(Hi, Burt!)
All my family
From down in Texas
Make their livin'
Diggin' dirt

Come out here
To Californy
Just to find me
Some pretty girls
Ones I seen
Gets me so horny
Ruby lips
'N teeth like pearls

Wanna love 'em all
Wanna love 'em dearly
Wanna pretty girl
I'll even pay
I'll buy 'em furs
I'll buy 'em jewelry
I know they like me
Here's what I say

I'm Lonesome Cowboy Burt
(Speakin' atcha!)
Come smell my fringe-y shirt
(Reekin' atcha!)
My cowboy pants
My cowboy dance
My bold advance
On this here waitress
Yodel odel tee ay
Yodel odel tee . . .

(He's Lonesome Cowboy Burt
Don'tcha get his feelings hurt)
Come on in this place
And I'll buy you a taste
You can sit on my face
Where's my waitress?

Burtram, Burtram Redneck
Burtram, Burtram Redneck

I'm an awful nice guy
Sweat all day in the sun
Roofer by trade
Quite a bundle I've made
I'm a unionized roofin' old
Son-of-a-gun
(He's a unionized roofin' old
Son-of-a-gun)

When I get off, I get plastered
Drink till I fall on the floor
Find me some Communist bastard
'N stomp on his face till he don't
Move no more
(He stomps on his face till he don't
Move no more)

I fuss an' I cuss an' I keep on drinkin'
Till my eyes puff up an' turn red
I drool on m'shirt
I see if he's hurt
Kick him again in the head (Let's)
Kick him again in the head (Boys)
Kick him again in the head (Now)
Kick him again in the head

Lonesome Cowboy Burt
(Speakin' atcha!)
Come smell my fringe-y shirt!
(Reekin' atcha!)
My cowboy pants
My cowboy dance
My bold advance
On this here waitress
Yodel odel tee ay
Yodel odel tee . . .

(He's Lonesome Cowboy Burt
Don'tcha get his feelin's hurt)
Yeah, but come on in this place
And I'll buy you a taste
And you can sit on my face
Where's my waitress?

Opal, you hot little bitch!

Centerville
A real nice place to raise your kids up

Centerville
It's really neat!

Churches!
Churches!
And liquor stores!

The clock upon the wall
Has struck the midnight hour
She finishes her call
Her girlfriend's in the shower

Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!

Half a dozen provocative squats
Out of the shower, she squeezes her spots
Brushes her teeth
Shoots a deodorant spray up her twat
It's getting her, getting her hot
She's just twenty-four
And she can't get off
A sad but typical case, yeah
Last dude to do her
Got in and got soft
She blew it
And laughed in his face, yeah!
Face, yeah!
Yeah . . .

Jeff (Howard):
Ha-Nin-Noon-Toon Han-Toon-Han

Good Conscience (Mark):
No, Jeff!

Jeff (Howard):
Tan-Toon-Ran-Toon-Man-Toon-Frammin
Han-Toon-Ran-Toon-Han-Toon-Frammin

Good Conscience (Mark):
No no no!

Jeff (Howard):
Man! This stuff is great! It's just as if Donovan himself had appeared on my very own TV with words of peace, love and eternal cosmic wisdom! Leading me, guiding me on paths of everlasting pseudo-karmic negligence in the very midst of my drug-induced nocturnal emission.

Good Conscience (Mark):
For I am your good conscience, Jeff. I know all, I see all, I am a cosmic love pulse matrix becoming a technicolor interpositive.

Jeff (Howard):
Heh? Where'd you buy that incense? It's hip.

Good Conscience (Mark):
It's the same and mysterious exotic oriental fragrance as what The Beatles get off on.

Jeff (Howard):
I thought I recognized it. Mmmm, what is that? Musk?

Good Conscience (Mark):
Jeff, I know what's good for you.

Jeff (Howard):
Right. You're heavy.

Good Conscience (Mark):
Yes, Jeff. I am your guiding light. Listen to me. Don't rip off the towels, Jeff!

Bad Conscience (Jim):
Piss off, you little nitwit.

Jeff (Howard):
Hey man! What's the deal?

Good Conscience (Mark):
Don't listen to him, Jeff. He's no good. He'll make you do bad things!

Jeff (Howard):
You mean he'll make me sin?

Good Conscience (Mark):
Yes, Jeff . . . sin.

Jeff (Howard):
Wow!

Bad Conscience (Jim):
Jeff, I'd like to have a word with you . . . about your soul . . .

Good Conscience (Mark):
No! Don't listen, Jeff!

Bad Conscience (Jim):
Why are you wasting your life night after night playing this comedy music?

Jeff (Howard):
You're right. I'm too heavy to be in this group.

Bad Conscience (Jim):
Comedy music . . .

Good Conscience (Mark):
Jeff! Your soul!

Chorus:
You're wasting your life
You're much too heavy, Jeff
To be . . .

Jeff (Howard):
In this group all I ever get to do is play Zappa's comedy music. He eats!

Good Conscience (Mark):
Jeff!

Jeff (Howard):
I get so tense

Bad Conscience (Jim):
Of course you do, my boy

Jeff (Howard):
The stuff he makes me do
Is always off the wall!

Bad Conscience (Jim):
That's why it would be best
To leave his stern employ

Jeff (Howard):
And quit the group

Bad Conscience (Jim):
You'll make it big!

Jeff (Howard):
That's right!

Bad Conscience (Jim):
Of course!

Jeff (Howard):
And then I won't be small!

Chorus:
Ha ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha
He-he-he-he-he
Ho ho ho ho

Jeff (Howard):
Heh heh heh . . . Cough cough . . . Ahmet Ertegun used this towel as a bath mat six weeks ago at a rancid motel in Orlando, Florida, with the highest mildew rating of any commercial lodging facility within the territorial limits of the United States, naturally excluding tropical possessions . . . mmmjigspffftgmmd . . . It's still damp! What an aroma! This is the best I ever got off. What can I say about this elixir? Try it on steaks, cleans nylons, small craft warnings. It's great for the home, the office. On fruits!

Bad Conscience (Jim):
This is the real you, Jeff. Rip off a few more ashtrays. Get rid of some of that inner tension. Quit the comedy group! Get your own group together! Heavy! Like Grand Funk. Or Black Sabbath.

Good Conscience (Mark):
No, Jeff!

Jeff (Howard):
Or Coven!

Good Conscience (Mark):
Peace! Love!

Bad Conscience (Jim):
Bollocks!

Howard:
Jeff has gone out there on that stuff.

Good Conscience (Mark):
He should have never have used the elixir and only stuck to the incense. Oh, Atlantis!

Mark:
That was Billy The Mountain dressed up like Donovan fading out on the wall mounted TV screen. Jeff is flipping out. Road fatigue. We've gotta get him back to normal before Zappa finds out and steals it and makes him do it in the movie!

Bad Conscience (Jim):
You have a brilliant career ahead of you, my boy. Just get out of this group!

Mark:
Howard! That was Studebaker Hoch dressed up like Jim Pons giving career guidance to the bass player of a rock-oriented comedy group. Jeff's imagination has gone beyond the fringe of audience comprehension!

Howard:
Jeff, Jeff, it's me, The Phlorescent Leech!

Mark:
Jeff, Jeff, it's me, Eddie!

Jeff & Mark:
Wow! What can I say about this elixir?

Mark:
Well, put it on your steaks, uh send it overseas [for . . . killing ground], and put it on your surfboard you won't slip off, try it on your [...], and on the, the red balloons, you can blow up all balloons with it, put it on your . . . heh . . . on . . . on your pizzas, put it on your shoes, tie your bike with it, and fill up your tires with it . . .

Howard:
Use it to clean your swimming pool, sell it to your mother and tell her it's a Rit tie-dye kit you won't even believe what'll happen when you starch your shirt with it, ironing goes easier, and your car windows never looked better in your whole life, ladies and gentlemen, you can inhale it and it makes your voice three keys higher, and you can't even stand what happens when you put it in your hair, as hair tonic, heh heh, and if you ever tried it as a . . .

Jim Pons:
Soak your shirts in it, soak your teeth in it, let it play the piano, tow it up around the block, wear it instead of jeans, bathe your puppies with it, feed it to your ducks, use it instead of chlorine in your swimming pool, breathe it, rub it . . .

Group:
What
(Wow!)
What can I
(Wow!)
What
What can I say about this
(Wow!)

Mark & Howard:
Dwee Do Dee-oo-Poo Framminnn!
Han-ninatt
Han-ninatt . . .

Jeff (Howard):
Does this kind of life look interesting to you? Night after night, dinners with Herb Cohen, thrill-packed fun-filled evenings on the French Riviera at the Midem convention, a fake tie, the whole bit, watch Mutt eat and Leon feed the geese, one thousand green business cards with your name and the wrong address plus six royalty statements inspected and customized by Ran Toon Tan, Han Toon, Frammin and Dee, followed by twelve potential suicides as the members of your group, past and present, find out they can't collect unemployment, a dog, a car, an epidemic of body lice with your own record company, your name on the door, electric buzzer to the inner office and Ona's tits and a three month supply of German bookings with tickets on Air Rangoon? Does this kind of life look interesting to you, as a fake rock & roll guitar player in a comedy group?

Chorus:
Two Hundred Motels
Two Hundred Motels
Tan-Toon Ran-Tan Na-Na-Hamninn
Two Hundred Motels

Jeff (Howard):
I'm stealing the room
I'm stealing the room
I'm stealing the room

Chorus:
I'm stealing the room
I'm stealing the . . .
I'm stealing the room
Stealing
I'm stealing the . . .
I am . . . mmm
Steel
I am steel
Steel
S-s-steel
I am steel
Steel

She's such a dignified lady
She's so pretty and soft
You can't call her a groupie
It just pisses her off

She got diamonds and jewelry
She got lotsa new clothes
She ain't hurtin' for money
So that everyone knows

That she knows what she wants
Knows what she likes
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Look out
She's got her eyes on you

She left her place after midnight
And she drove to the club
You know that her and her partner
Came here lookin' for love
They want a guy from a group
Got a thing in the charts
If his dick is a monster
If his dick is a monster
If his dick is a monster
They will give him their hearts

'Cause they know what they want
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna?
Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna?)
Know what they like
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna?
Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna?)
Daddy, daddy, daddy
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it?)
Daddy, daddy, daddy
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it?)
Daddy, daddy, daddy
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it?)
Look out
They got their eyes on you

Fam-bam-yak-a-ta-tah!

They know what they want
They know what they like
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Daddy, daddy, daddy
All right
You got 'em screamin' all night
Screamin' all night

Ooh, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
(It's a Bentley!)
Ooh, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
(It's a Cooper!)
Ooh, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
(It's a Chevy!)
Ooh, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
(Or a Lincoln!)
Ooh, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
([...])
Ooh, do you . . .

It's your penis dimension
Penis dimension

Mark:
Hiya, friends. Now just be honest about it. Did you ever consider the possibility that your penis, and in the case of many dignified ladies, that the size of the titties themselves might provide elements of subconscious tension? Weird twisted anxieties that could force a human being to have to become a politician! A policeman! A Jesuit Monk! A rock & roll guitar player! A wino! You name it. Or, in the case of the ladies, the ones that can't afford a silicone beef-up, they become writers of hot books . . .

Howard:
"Manuel, the gardener, placed his burning phallus in her quivering quim . . ."

Mark:
Yes, or they become Carmelite Nuns . . .

Howard:
". . . Gonzo, the lead guitar player, placed his mutated member in her slithering slit . . ."

Mark:
. . . Or race horse jockeys! There is no reason why you or your loved ones should suffer. Things are bad enough without the size of your organ adding even more misery to the troubles of the world!

Howard:
Right on! Right on!

Mark:
Now, if you are a lady and you've got munchkin tits, you can console yourself with this age-old line from primary school . . .

Mark & Howard:
"Anything over a mouthful is wasted!"

Mark:
Yes, and isn't it the truth? And if you're a guy and one night you're at a party and you're trying to be cool—I mean, you aren't even wearing any underwear, you're being so cool—and somebody hits on you one night and he looks you up and down and he says . . .

Howard:
"Eight inches or less?"

Mark:
Well, let me tell you brothers, that's the time when you got to turn around and look that sonafabitch right between the eyes and you got to tell him these words . . .

What will I say
The next day
To whatever I drag
To my hotel tonight
(If things go all right)

What will I say
The next day
To whatever I drag
To my hotel tonight?
(Will she be outa sight)

What will this evening
Bring me this morning
What will this evening
Bring me this morning

A succulent fat one?
A mod little flat one?
Maybe a hot one
To give me the clap
Maybe a freak who gets off with a strap

What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight)
If things go all right
(If things go all right)

What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight)
Will she be outa sight
(Will she be outa sight)

What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight)
If things go all right
(If things go all right)

What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight)
Will she be outa sight
(Will she be outa sight)

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Why don't you strap on
This here bunch
Of cardboard boxes, daddy-o
(Joy of my desiring)
You'll certainly look suave
And get me hot
Hot
Hot
Get me hot and horny

Chorus:
Ah oo
Doo wah doo wah doo wah

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
If there's one thing I really get off on

Chorus:
YOINNGG!

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
It's a nun suit painted on some old boxes
Some old melodies
Four-four
An aura . . .
An areola . . .
Pink gums . . .
Stumpy gray teeth . . .
Dental floss
Gets me hot
Wanna watch a dental hygiene movie?

Ooh, the way you love me, lady
I get so hard now I could die
Ooh, the way you love me, sugar
I get so hard now I could die

Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size

Ooh, the way you squeeze me, baby
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes
Ooh, the way you squeeze me, girl
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes

Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size

Mark:
Do you really wanna please me?

Howard:
Well, you know I do, babe

Mark:
Well, tell me why you do it
I really wanna know

Howard:
Oh, no, no, it wouldn't be right
For me to tell you tonight

Mark:
You better tell me right away
Or I'll dress up and go!

Howard:
Don't get mad
It ain't no big thing

Mark:
You better tell me right away
Don't you treat me cold

Howard:
Hold it, hold it, hold it, hold it!

Well, there are a lot of reasons why I'd, I'd drag a girl such as yourself back to this plastic hotel room and rip you off for spare change to run a, to run a vibrating machine attached to this queen-sized bulk-purchase kapok-infested do-not-remove-tag-under-penalty-of-law type bed and, and make you take off all your little clothes until you were nearly stark raving nude—save for your chrome-with-heavy-duty-leather-thong Peace Medallion—and make you assume a series of marginally erotic poses involving a plastic chair and an old guitar strap while I did a wee-wee in your hair and beat you with a pair of tennis shoes I got from Jeff Beck.

Blorp
Tss

The lad searches the night for his newts

Blorp!

Narrator:
The girl wants to fix him some broth

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Tinsel cock

Chorus:
Doo-wee-doo
Tinsel cock my baby

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Would you like some broth?

Narrator:
Some nice soup

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Some hot broth?

Chorus:
Yum!

Narrator:
Small dogs in it

Chorus:
Doggies

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Do ya?

Narrator:
You like broth?

Chorus:
Doo wad'n' um

Narrator:
Dog broth?

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Hot broth?

Chorus:
Hot dog broth

Narrator:
You like
Dog broth hot?

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Hot dog debris?

Chorus:
Debris!

Narrator:
How d'ya like it?

Chorus:
Dog breath?
Dog broth?
Dog breath broth?

Narrator:
Debris?
Of the four styles offered:
Debris, broth, breath
And the ever popular, hygienic
European version
Tinsel cock!

Phyllis Bryn-Julson & Chorus:
Tinsel cock

Narrator:
Which do you choose?

Narrator:
The girl

Chorus:
Duh girl wants ta fix him some broth

Narrator:
In a statement to the press

Chorus:
D-d-d-duhhh

Narrator:
Explains . . .

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Broth reminds me of nuns

Chorus:
Nuns
Nuns
Nuns

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
I see them smashing

Chorus:
Kids

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
With rulers

Chorus:
Bap!

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Disciplining munchkin cretins
Tortured munchkins
Tortured munchkins

Chorus:
Munchkin cretins
Munchkin victims

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Irish Catholic victims
Little green scratchy sweaters

Chorus:
Sweaters

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Little green scratchy ones

Chorus:
Corduroy pants

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Brown corduroy pants

Chorus:
Doo ah
Doo ah

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Corduroy pants
An' green scratchy
Munchkin Irish Catholic victims

Chorus:
Munchkins
Munch-a-kins

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Munchkins get me hot

Chorus:
Oo ah

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
Munchkins get me get me ee
Oo ah ee oo

Narrator:
Hot!
Gets her real hot!

Lord have mercy on the people in England
For the terrible food these people must eat
(Aaaarr . . . Excuse me a minute.)
And may the Lord have mercy on the fate of this movie
And God bless the mind of the man in the street

Group & Chorus:
Help everybody so they all get some action
Some love on the weekend
Some real satisfaction

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
A room and a meal and a garbage disposal
A lawn and a hose'll be strictly genteel

Group:
Lord have mercy on the hippies and faggots
And the dykes and the weird little children they grow

Help the black man
Help the poor man
Help the milk man
Help the door man
Help the lonely neglected old farts that I know

Howard:
They're gonna clear out the studio
They're gonna tear down all the . . .
They're gonna whip down all the . . .
They're gonna sweep out all the . . .
They're gonna pay off all the . . .

Mark:
Oh, yeah!

Group:
And then . . .
And then . . .
And then . . .
And then . . .

Howard:
Hey hey hey, everybody in the orchestra and the chorus
Talkin' 'bout every one of our lovely and talented dancers
Talkin' 'bout the light bulb men
Camera men
The make-up men

Mark:
The fake-up men

Howard:
Yeah, the rake-up men

JCB:
Especially Herbie Cohen, yea-oooh . . .

Mark:
They're all gonna rise up!

Howard:
They're gonna jump up
I said jump up
Talkin' 'bout jump right up on off the floor
Jump right up and hit the door

Mark:
They're all gonna rise up and jump off!

Group:
They're gonna ride on home
They're gonna ride on home
They're gonna ride on home
They're gonna ride on home

Howard:
And once again
Take themselves
Seriously

Group:
Yeah!

Howard:
Two, three, four, seriously!

George Duke:
They're all gonna go home

Group:
Through the driving sleet and rain

George Duke:
They're all gonna go home

Group:
Through the fog
Through the dust
Through the tropical fever
And the blistering frost

George Duke:
They're all gonna go home

Howard:
And get out of it as they can be, baby

Mark:
And the same goes for me

JCB:
Well, the same goes for me

Group:
Oh, yeah!
Oh, yeah!
Oh, yeah!
Oh, yeah!

Howard:
And each and every member of this rock oriented comedy group in his own special way
Gonna get out of it as he can be

Group:
We all gonna get wasted
We all gonna get twisted
We all gonna get wasted
We all gonna get twisted

Howard:
And I am definitely gonna get reamed
'Cause I'm such a lonely
I'm such a lonely
A lonely, lonely
Talkin' 'bout a lonely guy!

Oh, and I know tonight, I am definitely . . .
I am positively . . .
I just have to get . . .

Group:
Bent, reamed and wasted!

JCB & Group:
A disaster area the size of Atlantic City, New Jersey!

Howard:
He's making me do this, ladies and gentlemen. I wouldn't do it if it weren't for this. You noticed, all through this material, I've been glancing over toward my left? Well, I'll tell you the reason for that, ladies and gentlemen. He is over there. He is over on the left. He is the guy that is making me do all this shit. Right over there. Now all through this movie, every time we've been on stage, I've had to look over in that direction, right? You saw it. You know. Well that's 'cause he's over there. I've got to watch him for time. He jumps up and down like a jackass. I can't even believe the guy sometimes. But we gotta watch him. "After all," we said, "it's Frank's movie." Now, we're The Mothers, but it's still Frank's movie, you understand? He got the bread for this, he rented the studio, had all these cheesy sets painted. It's so moche! I can't even stand it . . . Here we are. He's telling everybody, right now, right over there, to . . .