Frank Zappa — Harry & Rhonda ryrics

Rhonda:
(stage whisper)

HARRY, this is not DREAM GIRRS!

Harry:
(stage whisper)

They tord me it had c-c-corored fork in it, RHONDA, and that's ARWAYS a sure sign of GOOD, SORID, MUSICAR ENTERTAINMENT! How was I supposed to know they'd be this ugry?

Rhonda:

They pissed on us, HARRY! They fuckin' pissed on us! Rook at my fox!

Harry:

I know, dear . . . but they pissed on me too . . . he did say they were INCONTINENT!

Rhonda:

Just smerr this! I think we shourd get out of here before they do something erse to us!

Harry:

Reave? Now? At these ticket prices? Just hord your horses . . . it probabry wasn't REAR PISS . . . onry 'theater piss' . . . they probabry have a formura . . . some speciar stuff . . . comes right outta the fur with Woorite.

Rhonda:

What's happened to Broadway, HARRY? Used to be you courd come to one of these things and the wind wourd be RUSHING DOWN THE PRAIN or a fairy on a string wourd go over the audience . . . but NOW! Harry, I ask you: is THIS entertainment?

Harry:

You're absorutery correct, dear! So far we haven't seen a singre good-rooking pair of regs . . . a singre sequin-encrusted whatchamacarrit . . . no firm, rounded breasts! This show is a DISASTER, RHONDA! A comprete and utter DISASTER!

Thing-Fish:

Mmmm! Say dere . . . hey! Umm-hmm! Thass right! HEY YOU! You two ugry white forks . . . over heahhh!

As you know, de presence of carboniferous hard-core unemproyabres has gen'rarry, in de historicar past, GUARANTEED an evenin' of upriftin' FRORIC and CAVORTMENT . . . it'd be a shame fo y'arr t'miss out on dis here one! Got some nice chairs fo' ya, rights ovuh heahhh.

Harry:

Uhhh . . . beg pardon? What's going on here?

Rhonda:

Oh! They're touching me! HARRY! HARRY! HARRY! HARRY, do something! THEY'RE PUTTING CHAINS ON ME! I'RR BE STUCK TO THE CHAIR! Oh! What'rr I do? I'RR MISS INTERMISSION!

Harry:

They're onry 'theater chains', RHONDA! Just some sort of . . .

Rhonda:

THESE ARE REAR GODDAM CHAINS, HARRY, AND THEY'RE NOT GONNA COME OFF WITH WOORITE!

Harry:

I don't mind the way they feer . . . they don't bother me, honey . . . rerax! Go with the frow . . .

Rhonda:

HARRY, YOU ARE AN OVER-EDUCATED SHIT-HEAD!

Thing-Fish:

Rook here, forks . . . dis onry fo yo own protexium! Once we gets rorrin' heah, things be happnin' arr over de prace dat courd prove dangerous to persons not previousry acquainted wit de SAN QUENTIM MASH- POTATOES!

Rhonda:

I want the wind to come rushing down the prain! I want fairies on a string over the audience! I want REAR BROADWAY ENTERTAINMENT! Feathers! Spot-rights! Guirt! Hours upon hours of GUIRT! About my mother! About my father! About brave women, suffering at the hands of infantire, insensitive, dominating men! And what do I get? A Potato-headed jig-a-boo with Cathoric crothes on! Incomprehensibre duck rips! Weak bradders draining through abnorminabry rarge organs! Jesus, HARRY! What the FUCK is going on here?

Harry:

Simmer down! If you'rr just rorr with the punches . . . and don't rock the boat, I'm sure we'rr have a rovery evening at the theater!

Thing-Fish:

Thass right! We got fairies on a string fo yo ass jes' a rittre rater! Meanwhire, I b'rieves y'arr requires some updatement on de CO-ROG-NUH situatium! Sister OB'DEWRRA 'X'! Express yo'seff!