Testi musica canzoni

Mark Volman (vocals)
Howard Kaylan (vocals)
Ian Underwood (keyboards, woodwinds)
Aynsley Dunbar (drums)
George Duke (keyboards, trombone)
Martin Lickert (bass)
Ruth Underwood (orchestra drum set)
Jim Pons (vocals)


Bad Concience:
han min noon toon han toon han

Good Concience:
No, Jeff!

Bad Concience:
han toon ran toon ran toon fran min han toon ran toon nan toon fram

Good Concience:
No no no!

Jeff Simmons:
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 Concience:
Oh, I am your good conscience, Jeff. I know all. I see all. I am a cosmic love pulse matrix, becoming a technicolor interpositive.

Jeff Simmons:
Hmm? Where'd you buy that incense? It's hip.

Good Concience:
It's the same mysterious exotic oriental fragrance as what the Beatles get off on.

Jeff Simmons:
I thought I recognized it. Mmm, what is that, musk?

Good Concience:
Jeff, I know what's good for you.

Jeff Simmons:
Right. You're heavy.

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

Bad Concience:
Kiss off, you little nitwit.

Jeff Simmons:
Hey man, what's the deal?

Good Concience:
Don't listen to him Jeff, he's no good. He'll make you do bad things!

Jeff Simmons:
You mean, he'll make me sin?

Good Concience:
Yes, Jeff. SIN!

Jeff Simmons:
Wow!

Bad Concience:
Jeff, I'd like to have a word with you. About your soul.

Good Concience:
No, don't listen Jeff.

Bad Concience:
Why are you wasting your life, night after night playing this comedy music?

Jeff Simmons:
You're right, I'm too heavy to be in this group.

Good Concience:
Comedy music.

Bad Concience:
Jeff, your soul!

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

Bad Concience:
Jeff!

Jeff Simmons:
I get so tense.

Bad Concience:
Of course you do my boy.

Jeff Simmons:
The stuff he makes me do is always off the wall.

Bad Concience:
That's why it would be best to leave his stern employ.

Jeff Simmons:
And quit the group!

Bad Concience:
You'll make it big!

Jeff Simmons:
That's right.

Bad Concience:
Of course!

Jeff Simmons:
And then I won't be small!

Ahmet Ertegun used this towel as a bathmat 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. 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 made for the home! The office! On fruits!

Bad Concience:
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 Concience:
No, Jeff. ??:
[?We're coming]

Good Concience:
Peace. Love.

Bad Concience:
Bollocks.

Mark Volman & Howard Kaylan:
What can I say about this elixir?

Mark Volman:
Jeff has gone out there on that stuff!

Bad Concience:
He should have never have used the elixir and only stuck to the incense. Oh, Atlantis.

Mark Volman:
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 got to get him back to normal before Zappa finds out, and steals it, and makes him do it in the movie.

Bad Concience:
You have a brilliant career ahead of you my boy. Just get out of this group!

Mark Volman:
Howard, that was Studebacher 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 Kaylan:
Jeff, Jeff it's me the Phlorescent Leech!

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

Mark Volman & Howard Kaylan:
Wowwww! What can I say about this elixir?

{note: the following three paragraphs are simultaneous and with wildly} {fluctuating pitch. A turntable with a detachable drive is still a useful} {tool! -cgk}

Mark Volman & Howard Kaylan:
Put it on your steaks, uh, send it overseas, [? ? ? ?], and put it on you surfboard so 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 your pizza. Put it on your shoes, tie your mic with it, and fill up your tires with it.

Use it to clean your swimming pool, sell it to your mother and tell her it's a tie-die 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 on your hair, as hair tonic. Heh, heh. And if you ever tried it as a...

Soak your shirts in it, soak your teeth in it. Let it play the piano. Follow it around the block. Wear it instead of jeans. Bathe you puppies with it. Feed it to your ducks. Use it instead of chlorine in your swimming pool. Breathe it. [?] it.

What?

Wowwwwww!

What can I?

Wowwwwww!

What? What can I say about this?

Wowwwwww!