Packard Goose Songtext
von Frank Zappa

Maybe you thought I was the packard goose (da, da-da, da-da)
Or the Ronald MacDonald of the nouveau-abstruse
Well, fuck all them people, I don′t need no excuse
For bein' what I am, do you hear me, then?

All them rock ′n roll writers is the worst kind of sleaze (da, da-da, da-da)
Sellin' punk like some new kinda Binglish disease
Is that the wave of the future?
Oh, spare me please!

(Ou-ou)
Oh no, you gotta go
Who do you write for?
I wanna know

I believe you is the government's whore
And keepin′ peoples dumb (I′m really dumb)
Is where you're comin′ from
And keepin' peoples dumb (I′m really dumb)
Is where you're coming from


Fuck all them writers with the pen in their hand (da, da-da, da-da)
I will be more specific so they might understand
They can all kiss my ass but because it′s so grand
They best just stay away, ah, hey, hey, hey

Hey, Joe, who did you blow?
Moe pushed the button boy
And you went to the show
Better suck a little harder or the shekels won't flow

And I don't mean your thumb
So on your knees you bum
Just tell yourself it′s yum
And suck it ′til you're numb

Journalism′s kinda scary
And of it we should be wary
Wonder what became of Mary?


Hi! It's me, the girl from the bus
Remember the last tour?
Well, information is not knowledge
Knowledge is not wisdom
Wisdom is not truth
Truth is not beauty
Beauty is not love
Love is not music
Music is the best
Wisdom is the domain of the wits which is extinct
Beauty is a French phonetic corruption of a short cloth
Neck ornament currently in resurgence

If you′re in the audience and like what we do (da, da-da, da-da)
Well, we want you to know that we like you all too
But as for the sucker who will write the review
If his mind is prehensile
He'll put down his pencil
And have himself a squat on the Cosmic Utensil (Cosmic Utensil)

Go give it all you got on the Cosmic Utensil (Cosmic Utensil)
Sit and spin until you rot on the Cosmic Utensil (Cosmic Utensil)
He really needs to squat on the Cosmic Utensil(Cosmic Utensil, Cosmic Utensil)

Now that I got that over with
I′ll just play my imaginary guitar again

Hey
Soundin' pretty good, baby, yeah
Uh, get down

Uh
(Hoora-ra-y-rah)
Boy, what an imagination!
(Hoora-ra-y-ra-y-rah)
(Hoora-ra-y-rah)
Love myself better than I love myself
(Hoora-ra-y-ra-y-rah)
I think
(Hoora-ra-y-rah)
What tone!
(Hoora-ra-y-ra-y-rah)
Sounds like an elegant gypsy
(Hoora-ra-y-rah)
What is that? Musk?
(Hoora-ra-y-ra-y-rah)
It's hip!
(Hoora-ra-y-rah)
(Hoora-ra-y-ra-y-rah)
(Hoora-ra-y-rah)
(Hoora-ra-y-ra-y-rah)
(Hoora-ra-y-rah)
(Hoora-ra-y-ra-y-rah)