Bobby Brown Goes Down

Hey there, people, I'm Bobby Brown
They say I'm the cutest boy in town
My car is fast, my teeth is shiney
I tell all the girls they can kiss my heinie
Here I am at a famous school
I'm dressin' sharp 'n I'm
Actin' cool
I got a cheerleader here wants to help with my paper
Let her do all the work 'n maybe later I'll rape her

Oh God I am the American dream
I do not think I'm too extreme
An' I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich
(Get a good, get a good, get a good, get a good job)

Women's Liberation
Came creepin' across the nation
I tell you people, I was not ready
When I fucked this dyke by the name of Freddie
She made a little speech then,
Aw, she tried to make me say when
She had my balls in a vice, but she left the dick
I guess it's still hooked on, but now it shoots too quick

Oh God I am the American dream
(P.U.)
But now I smell like Vaseline
An' I'm a miserable sonofabitch
Am I a boy or a lady . . . I don't know which
(I wonder wonder, wonder wonder)

So I went out 'n bought me a leisure suit
I jingle my change, but I'm still kinda cute
Got a job doin' radio promo
An' none of the jocks can even tell I'm a homo
Eventually me 'n a friend
Sorta of drifted along into S&M
I can take about an hour on the tower of power
'Long as I gets a little golden shower

Oh God I am the American dream
With a spindle up my butt till it makes me scream
An' I'll do anything to get ahead
I lay awake nights sayin', "Thank you, Fred!"
Oh God, Oh God, I'm so fantastic!
Thanks to Freddie, I'm a sexual spastic
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now; I'm goin' down,
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now; I'm goin' down,
And my name is Bobby Brown
Watch me now; I'm goin' down

Ha-ha . . .



by Frank Zappa, from Sheik Yerbouati released 1979


DANKE! Herr Kafka

horto



homens cegos procuram a visão do amor
onde os dias ergueram esta parede
intransponível


caminham vergados no zumbido dos ventos
com os braços erguidos - cantam


a linha do horizonte é uma lamina
corta os cabelos dos meteoros - corta
as faces dos homens que espreitam para o palco
nocturno das invisíveis cidades


escorre uma linfa prateada para o coração dos cegos
e o sono atormenta-os com os seus sonhos vazios


adormecem sempre
antes que a cinza dos olhos arda
e se disperse


no fundo do muito longe ouve-se
um lamento escuro
quando a alba se levanta de novo do horto
dos incêndios

proseguem caminho
com a voz atada por uma corda de lírios
os cegos
são o corpo de um fogo lento - uma sarça
que se acende subitamente por dentro





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