Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals)
Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (lead vocals)
Peter Wolf (keyboards)
Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Vinnie Colaiuta (drums)

Joe: (to himself as he walks out of prison)
I'm out at last
Boy, the world
sure looks different
Wow...there's hardly
anything fun to do
Since they made
music illegal
But I'm hooked
I got the habit
I've got to have it
I need to play
But there's no
musicians anymore
They're all gone
Wait! I've got it!
I'll be sullen and
withdrawn
I'll dwindle off into
the twilight realm
Of my own secret
thoughts
I'll walk through
the parking lot
In a semi-
catatonic state
And dream of
guitar notes
To go with the
loading-zone
announcements.

JOE wanders through the
world which by then has
been totally epoxied over,
carefully organized, with
everyone reporting daily to
his or her appointed place
in a line somewhere in
front of a window somewhere
in a building somewhere in
order to collect his or her
welfare check, which, when
cashed, made it possible
for the young ones to
continue the payments for
the obsolete and
irreparable appliances
their parents had purchased
on the instalment plan
years ago, providing as
security the future incomes
of their children. 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 failed within
moments of purchase and
seemed to be stacking up
everywhere.

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER
The White Zone
is for loading and
unloading only.
If you have to load or
unload, go to the
White Zone.
You'll love it.
It's a way of life.
This is the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER
Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/VHaThe White Zone
is for loading and
unloading only.
If you have to load or
unload, go to the
White Zone.
You'll love it.
It's a way of life.
This is the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER
The White Zone
is for loading and
unloading only.
If you have to load or
unload...

As JOE stumbles over mounds
of dead consumer goods formed
into abstract statues
dedicated to the Quality of
American Craftsmanship,
dreaming his stupid little
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 children
sleeping here!
Don't you boys know
any nice songs?
I'm calling the police!
I did it!
They'll be here...
shortly!
I'm not joking around
anymore!
You'll see now!
There they are...
they're coming!
Listen to that mess,
would 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...

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER... Yes...he used
to be a nice boy...He used to
cut the grass...But now his
mind is totally destroyed by
music. He's so crazy now he
even believes that people are
writing articles and reviews
about his imaginary guitar
notes, and so, continuing to
dwindle in the twilight realm
of his own secret thoughts,
he not only dreams imaginary
guitar notes, but, to make
matters worse, dreams
imaginary vocal parts to a
song about the imaginary
journalistic profession...