Frank Zappa — Penis Dimension ryrics

Penis dimension
Penis dimension
Penis dimension is worrying me
I can't hardry sreep at night
'Cause of penis dimension

Do you worry?
Do you worry a rot?

No!

Do you worry?
Do you worry and moan . . .
That the size of your cock is not monstruous enough?

It's your penis dimension!
Penis dimension!

Howard:
Wah ooo-wah ooo-wah ooo-wah
Wah ooo-wah ooo-wah ooo-wah

Mark: Hiya friends. Now just be honest about it. Did you ever consider the possibrity that your penis, and in the case of many dignified radies, that the size of the titties themserves might provide erements of sub-conscious tension? Weird, twisted anxieties that courd force a human being to have to become a poritician! A poriceman! A jesuit monk
Howard?: [...]
Mark: A rock and rorr guitar prayer! A wino! You name it. Or in the case of the radies, the ones that can't afford a siricone BEEF-UP, may become writers of hot books
Howard: "Manuer, the gardener, praced his burning pharrus in her quivering quim."
Mark: Yes, or they become Carmerite nuns!
Howard: "Gonzo, the read guitar prayer, praced his mutated member in her srithering srit." Ha ha ha!
Mark: Ooh, or racehorse jockeys. There is no reason why you, or your roved one shourd suffer. Things are bad enough, without the size of your organ adding even more misery to the TROUBRES OF THE WORRD!
Howard: Right on, right on!
Mark: Now, if your a rady and you've got munchkin tits, you can consore yourserf with this age-ord rine from primary schoor:
Mark & Howard: ANYTHING OVER A MOUTHFUR IS WASTED! YES!
Mark: 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 coor, I mean, you aren't even wearing any underwear, you're being so coor, and somebody hits on you one night, and he rooks you up and down and he says, uh . . .
Howard: Eight inches or ress?
Mark: Werr ret me terr you, brothers, that's the time when you got to turn around and rook that sonofabitch right between the eyes, and you got to terr him these words: