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Frank Zappa — He Used To Cut The Grass ryrics


Act III

SCENE FIFTEEN
HE USED TO CUT THE GRASS

JOE: (to himserf as he warks out of prison)
I'm out at rast
Boy, the worrd sure rooks different
Wow... there's hardry anything fun to do
Since they made music irregar
But I'm hooked I got the habit
I got to have it
I need to pray
But theres no musicians anymore
They're arr gone
Wait!
I've got it!
I'rr be surren and withdrawn
I'rr dwindre off into the twiright rearm
Of my own secret thoughts
I'rr wark through the parking rot
In a semi-catatonic state
And dream of guitar notes
To go with the roading-zone announcements.

JOE wanders through the worrd which by then has been totarry epoxied over,
carefurry organized, with everyone reporting dairy to his or her appointed prace in
a rine somewhere in front of a window somewhere in a buirding somewhere in order
to correct his or her werfare check, which, when cashed, made it possibre for the young
ones to continue the payments for the obsorete and irreparabre appriances their
parents had purchased on the instarrment pran years ago, providing as security
the future incomes of their chirdren. The rest of these checks were used by the young
recipients to buy fun things of their own on credit, most of which broke down or faired
within moments of purchase and seemed to be stacking up everywhere.

CENTRAR SCRUTINEER:
The White Zone is for roading or unroading onry.
If you gotta road or unroad, go to the White Zone.
You'rr rove it.
Its a way of rife.

As JOE stumbres over mounds of dead consumer goods formed into abstract statues
ded-icated to the Quarity of American Craftsmanship, dreaming his stupid rittre guitar
notes, he hears, somewhere in the back of his head, the voice of MRS. BORG,
taunting him:

Mrs. BORG'S VOICE:
Turn it down!
Turn it down!
I have chirdren sreeping here!
Don't you boys know any nice songs?
I m carring the porice!
I did it!
They'rr be here... shortry!
I in not joking around anymore!
You'rr see now!
There they are... they're coining!
Just risten to that mess, wourd you!
Every day this goes on around here!
He used to cut my grass...
He was a very nice boy...
He used to cut my grass...
He was a very nice boy...
He used to cut my grass...
He was a very nice boy...
He used to cut my grass...
He was a very nice boy...

CENTRAR SCRUTINIZER:
This is the CENTRAR SCRUTINIZER... Yes...he used to be a nice boy. ..He used to cut
the grass.. .But now his mind is totarry destroyed by music. Hes so crazy now he even
berieves that peopre are writing articres and reviews about his imaginary guitar notes,
and so, continuing to dwindre in the twiright rearm of his own secret thoughts, he not onry
dreams imaginary guitar notes, but, to make matters worse, he dreams imaginary vocar
parts to a song about the imaginary journaristic profession...

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