Lyrics

Psycho - Eddie Noack

Can Mary fry some fish, Mama
I'm as hungry as can be
Oh lordy, how I wish, Mama
You could keep the baby quiet 'cause my head is killing me

I've seen my ex last night, Mama
At a dance at Miller's store
She was with that Jackie White, Mama
I killed them both, and they're buried
Under Jenkins sycamore.

Don't you think I'm psycho, Mama
You can pour me a cup
If you think I'm psycho, Mama
You better let 'em lock me up

Don't hand the george to me, Mama
I might squeeze him too tight
And I'm as nervous as can be, Mama
So let me tell you 'bout last night

I woke up in Johnny's room, Mama
Standing right by the bed
With my hands near his throat, Mama

Wishing both of us were dead

You think I'm psycho don't you, Mama
I just killed Johnny's pup
You think I'm psycho don't you, Mama
You'd better let 'em lock me up

You know the little girl next door, Mama
I think her name is Betty Clark
Oh, don't tell me that she's dead, Mama
Why I just seen It in the park

She was sitting on a bench, Mama
Thinking of a game to play
Seems I was holding a wrench, Mama
Then my mind walked away

You think I'm psycho don't you, Mama
I didn't mean to break your cup
You think I'm psycho don't you, Mama
Mama, Mama why don't you get up?

Say something Mama

A man sits down to write a letter,
But instead he writes a book
The book begins -
Dear Sir, I don't if you're interested
But you're wife is a whore

A man gets on a train and proceeds
To take all his clothes off
He begins to play with himself, and he says
"In my country, this is definitely not offensive"

A man pours petrol through his neighbour's letterbox
And throws in a match
The house is engulfed in flames
As the neighbours jump from the upstairs window
He films the whole thing on video
He plays it back to them later in hospital
"Things have been pretty dull at home without you" he says

A man pushes a lawn mower
Two hundred miles on his knees
To the tomb of the unknown gardener
"Great one" he cries "I've done my penance.
I bring my offering.
Grant me, grant me, grant me, pest-free roses"

Psycho Street, friendly people down on Psycho Street
Good neighbours down on Psycho Street
And if you need a hand, need a friend, we understand
And if you need a pal, we'll be there, anyhow
Psycho Street, Psycho Street, Psycho Street

A man stakes his neighbour's cat
To the barbecue and turns on the gas
"Now are you going to talk" he says
"Or am I going to have to get nasty?"

A man has an inflatable doll made
That looks exactly like his wife
He murders his wife, dissolves her body in acid
And marries the doll
Three years later, he leaves her for another doll

A man hands his son a brick and says
"Son, throw this brick through the greenhouse next door"
The boy does
The boy next door throws one back
It hits the man on the head and mortally wounds him
"Ah well" he says, as his life blood trickles away
"Boys will be boys"

A thoughtful woman sends her best friend a parcel
Inside, it says, is a free sample, full body beauty treatment
But really it contains acids and chemicals
When her friend tries it, her hair falls out,
Her face is wrinkled and her body scarred
The thoughtful woman turns to her husband and winks
And says "Pre-emptive strike"

Psycho Street, friendly people down on Psycho Street
Good neighbors down on Psycho Street
If you need a hand, need a friend, we understand
And if you need a pal, we'll be there, anyhow
Oh Psycho Street, Psycho Street, Psycho Street
Psycho Street, Psycho Street, Psycho Street

Richard John Thompson

Poo-poo ta-na-nah

VD Vowdy vootie

FZ

Highway Hypnosis

I'm burning, I'm smoking
Got to keep these wheels a-turning
The hot road underneath me
This cataclysmic journey
White lines and traffic signs
Ain't nothin' I ain't missin'
I can't stand in the drivin' daze
I'm constantly road trippin'

Gone like the wind
Oh, I'll see your face again
Passing through your town before you know
I gotta do my time
With this old guitar of mine
White line fever leads me to the show

Well, the road of life I travel on, I move along so freely
Mesmerized and satisfied with the beauty that has found me
I travel on and sing my song to anyone who'll listen
Forever mindful of the gift that I been given

Gone like the wind
Oh, I'll see your face again
Passing through your town before you know
Well, I gotta do my time
With this old guitar of mine
White line fever leads me to the show

Well, the car, she is against me and I'm runnin' for my money
I need to have a hobby, my guitar, and my sweet honey
News travels fast, my friend, but I keep traveling faster
Angels, they watch over me to keep me from disaster

Gone like the wind
Oh, I'll see your face again
Passing through your town before you know
Well, I gotta do my time
With this old guitar of mine
White line fever leads me to the show

(edit, more with the theme)

Breakfast Serial Killers
Chris Chandler, Phil Rockstroh

Down in Australia the ozone layer has gotten so bad that not only do people except it - they are finding ways to cash in on it.  There are beer ads that say, "Well the world is coming to an end but wouldn't you want to die with a Fosters in your hand?"

Personally, I'm sick of all these visions of the apocalypse that have become as plentiful as Breakfast cereals on the isles of the supermarket of the  next  millennium.

I'm waiting for ads like:
"The hour is growing late: the Post Alphabits
Spell d-o-o-m."
"The forces of destruction have been eating their
Wheates, boy, while the Rice Krispies of righteousness'
Grow cold and soggy.  Perhaps this is the way the world ends
Not with a whimper or a bang but with a Snap, Crackle, and a Pop."

Chorus:
The world's goin' to hell and we know it
Why not make a show of it
Buy your tickets for the end of the world
From the breakfast cereal killers

The Lucky Charm's leprechaun is an evil pagan
Imp if ever I've seen one...

The Trix rabbit, an obvious
Marxist terrorist seeking the redistribution of resources from our children
to subvert 3rd world rodents like himself...

While the Fruit Loops bird
is a homosexual, drug addict...

The Sugar Smacks Sugar Bear is an androgynous petofile looking to lure our children into his cave of perversions by offering them sugar coated smack...

Count Chocula is an aging Goth kid and after twenty years he's still painting his fingernails black and secretly hopes Marilin Manson never gets as big as Bauhause...

The Choa-Choa Puffs coo coo bird belongs in a straight jacket.  His bird droppings have tested positive for cocoa...

The Quaker Oats  guy is a charismatic cult leader, leading a band of oddly dressed, wig-wearing,  mason-like family, religious fanatic breakfast Serial killers...


There's mutiny from stern to bow on the Cap'n  Crunch
Ship of State. It's  all enough to make you want to
Head for the beer Aisle.
Just say it, say it with me:
Head for the beer Aisle
Head for the beer Aisle
Head for the beer Aisle
Head for the beer Aisle

Ahhhhh Beer Aisle -- an isle-- like an island of refuge...
an oasis in the dry cereal wasteland.... 

But there is trouble brewing in 6-pack paradise... 

The Four Klidesdales of the Apocalypse ride the random-breathalyzer highways....

A prophet of marketing says to me: The end of the world is testing well indeed

And we need nothing less than a major market share of extinction: 


Look at the latest numbers. 

The apocalypse is trafficking well in front of the Elysian Fields, the Rapture, Nirvana Kroger, Star Market, Ralph's, The second coming, Piggly Wiggly

The devil has 100% brand name recognition

Among every demographic group.... 

         ...All except for one small survey set. 


Key groups finds it too all too... too... 

Negative... They like the end of world angle --

Except for one thing... The ending... 

They want a more upbeat apocalypse....

Something that tells them like Tony the Tiger does: 

That  it's all going to be GRRRRRRRRREAT!!!!


They want a cute, warm-fuzzy

Product tie in: a kind of tickle me Anti-Christ Doll...

or Beelzebub Beanie Babies.

This is important business here. 

This is going to be big.  

Bigger than Mardi Gras.  

Bigger than the Super Bowl.  

Bigger than the Labor Day White Sale.  

It's the end of the world, By God - 

and if we don't get full sponsorship we are 

doomed.
 

I pissed on a bird 

"Don't eat yellow snow" - Frank Zappa

Take a little walk to the edge of town
And go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks

Where secrets lie in the border fires
In the humming wires
Hey man, you know ya never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge
Past the mills, past the stacks

On a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with a red right hand

He'll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you've been a good boy
He'll rekindle all the dreams
That took you a lifetime to destroy

He'll reach deep into the hole
Heal your shrinking soul
But there won't be a single thing that you can do
He's a God, he's a man
He's a ghost, he's a guru

They're whispering his name
Through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat is a red right hand

You don't have no money?
He'll get you some
You don't have no car?
He'll get you one

You don't have no self-respect?
You feel like an insect?
Well, don't you worry, buddy, 'cause here he comes
Through the ghettos and the barrio
And the bowery and the slum

A shadow is cast wherever he stands
Stacks of green paper in his red right hand

You'll see him in your nightmares
You'll see him in your dreams
He'll appear out of nowhere
But he ain't what he seems

You'll see him in your head
On the TV screen
Hey buddy, I'm warning you to turn it off
He's a ghost, he's a God
He's a man, he's a guru

You're one microscopic cog
In his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by his red right hand

Red Right Hand - Nick Cave

Powderfinger;

Look out, mama, there's a white boat coming up the river
With a big red beacon, and a flag, and a man on the rail
I think you'd better call John
'Cause it don't look like they're here to deliver the mail
And it's less than a mile away
I hope they didn't come to stay
It's got numbers on the side and a gun
And it's making big waves

Daddy's gone and my brother's out hunting in the mountains
Big John's been drinking since the river took Emmy-Lou
So the powers that be left me here to do the thinkin'
And I just turned twenty-two
I was wondering what to do
And the closer they got
The more those feelings grew

Daddy's rifle in my hand felt reassuring
He said me, red means run, son, numbers add up to nothing
When the first shot hit the docks I saw it coming
Raised my rifle to my eye
Never stopped to wonder why
Then I saw black
And my face splashed in the sky
Shelter me from the powder and the finger
Cover me with the thought that pulled the trigger
Just think of me as one you'd never figured
Would fade away so young
With so much left undone
Remember me to my love
I know I'll miss her

Wait,, What ?? Lance ???? And Lyrics ????  Oh WTF !!!!

LOL I knew he was pullin our leg.

Ok I got one for ya, you know the rest I'm sure ---->>>>

Full moon risin' over Alcatraz

Hangin' there like a big Topaz

Lyrics are the marrow of a song. 

Moses went walking with the staff of wood, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Newton got beaned by the apple good, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Egypt was troubled by the horrible asp, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Mister Charles Darwin had the gall to ask, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

https://youtu.be/CgR7mQlus4k

My Alice - William Apostol, Jon Weisberger, & Aaron Allen

Early in the fall back deep in the woods
The first hint of frost is upon you
About a mile from the field stone wall
It's not hard to get lost if you want to

Too far from the city to see the white lights
I move in the shadows under cover of night
Too far from the highway to have a flat tire
So I stare at the ashes and fire

Well John Saint Paul is a well-known man
Of wealth in a skyscraper palace
He likes his old Cadillac prepped for long drives
I don't like how he looks at my Alice

I work his garage with a wrench and my glove
Bring the stench of his gasoline home to my lovе
She swears once again shе has all she desires
As I stare in the ashes and fire

One day late last week when I got to word
The boss needs his Caddy all steady
I remembered his eyes all over my wife
As I carefully got my tools ready

What a terrible shame, should he ever break down
With me on his trail, and so far from town
If his brakes were to fail, if he blew out a tire
And I stared in the ashes and fire

Well John Saint Paul is a well-known man
Of wealth in a skyscraper palace
He likes his old Cadillac prepped for long drives
I don't like how he looks at my Alice
I don't like how he looks at my Alice

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6aAAwBv4BQ

AY-YEAH... AY-YEAH...

AY-YEAH... AY-YEAH...

La la la la la wee-ooo (Ay!)

La la la la la wee-ooo (Woo-pah!)

Bom-bop-bom bom-bom-pa-paw,.

Bom-bop-bom bom-bom-pa-paw, etc.

La la la la la wee-ooo (Uh-uh-hey!)

La la la la la wee-ooo (Yeah-pah-hey!)

Dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit

Dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit

FZ

Is there anything good inside of you ?

If there is I really wanna know.

Something ? Anything ?

FZ

No no no, yeah yeah yeah

I said

You are an asshole

FZ

Bang! Bang! Maxwell's silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell's silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead 

Ah... hey
Yeah, cat's own tail

I hear the click-clack of your feet on the stairs
I know you're no scare-eyed honey
There'll be a feast if you just come upstairs

But it's no hanging matter
It's no capital crime

I can see that you're fifteen years old
No, I don't want your I.D
And I can see that you're so far from home

But that's no hanging matter
It's no capital crime

Oh yeah, you're a strange stray cat
Oh yeah, don't you scratch like that
Oh yeah, you're a strange stray cat
I bet, bet your mama don't know you scream like that
I bet your mother don't know you can spit like that

You look so weird and you're so far from home
But you really miss your mother
Don't look so scared I'm no mad-brained bear

But but it's no hanging matter
It's no capital crime

Oh, yeah
Woo!

I bet your mama don't know that you scratch like that
I bet she don't know you can bite like that

You say you got a friend, that she's wilder than you
Why don't you bring her upstairs?
If she's so wild then she can join in too

It's no hanging matter
It's no capital crime

Oh yeah, you're a strange stray cat
Oh yeah, don't you scratch like that
Oh yeah, you're a strange stray cat
I bet you mama don't know you can bite like that
I'll bet she never saw you scratch my back

Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-yah!

Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-yah!

Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-yah!

Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-yah!

FZ

He's a real nowhere man.  Sitting in his nowhere land.  Making all his nowhere plans for nobody.

Doesn't have a point of view.  Knows not where he's going to.

He's as blind as he can be.  Just sees what he wants to see.

Lennon's writing about our fat bastard, Ex-President, Agent Orange??

David Nelson

Robert Hunter

Where I come from
You can read by the light of the stars
Pass the map, Mahoney
It can't be all that far
I would know it anywhere
Sight unseen, we're almost there
This smells like the end
Where I come from

Where I come from
All the roads are rocky and steep
And you aren't judged by
The company you keep
I would know you anywhere
Salt sea breezes in your hair
No one to compare
Where I come from

Where I come from
Smack on the demarcator line
If the sun don't rise, you know
Won't be for lack of trying
Fed up rehearsing my part
Gonna wing this one right from the heart
The only place to start
Where I come from

Where I come from
It used to be a border state
Nothing but my own reflection
On the dinner plate
Tonight I choose to dine alone
Me and the dog might share a bone
We don't waste a crumb
Where I come from

Where I come from
There's only one law to keep
Simple enough to recall
Even in your sleep
Only, only thing that's taught in school
Love if you can, but don't be cruel
That's the rule of thumb
Where I come from

Highway's calling
But I'm not calling back
All I ever wanted was
A two-room shack
Free to come and free to go
The only life I care to know
An old guitar to strum
Where I come from

Pedro lives out of the Wilshire Hotel
He looks out a window without glass
The walls are made of cardboard, newspapers on his feet
And his father beats him 'cause he's too tired to beg

He's got nine brothers and sisters
They're brought up on their knees
It's hard to run when a coat hanger beats you on the thighs
Pedro dreams of being older and killing the old man
But that's a slim chance, he's going to the boulevard

He's gonna end up on the dirty boulevard
He's going out to the dirty boulevard
He's going down to the dirty boulevard

This room cost $2, 000 dollars a month
You can believe it, man, it's true
Somewhere a landlord's laughing 'til he wets his pants
No one dreams of being a doctor or a lawyer or anything
They dream of dealing on the dirty boulevard

"Give me your hungry, your tired, your poor, I'll piss on 'em"
That's what the statue of bigotry says
Your poor huddled masses, let's club 'em to death
And get it over with and just dump 'em on the boulevard

Get 'em out on the dirty boulevard
Going out to the dirty boulevard
They're going down on the dirty boulevard
Going out...

Outside it's a bright night, there's an opera at Lincoln Center
Movie stars arrive by limousine
The klieg lights shoot up over the skyline of Manhattan
But the lights are out on the mean streets

A small kid stands by the Lincoln Tunnel
He is selling plastic roses for a buck
The traffic's backed up to 39th street
The TV whores are calling the cops out for a suck

And back at the Wilshire, Pedro sits there dreaming
He's found a book on magic in a garbage can
He looks at the pictures and stares up at the cracked ceiling
"At the count of three, " he says, "I hope I can disappear"

And fly, fly away from this dirty boulevard
I want to fly from dirty boulevard
I wanna fly from dirty boulevard
I want to fly, fly, fly, fly from dirty boulevard

I wanna fly away
I wanna fly
Fly, fly away
I wanna fly
Fly, fly away

fly, fly away
(Fly, fly, fly away) fly away (I wanna fly away)
(Fly, fly, fly away) I wanna fly, I'm gonna fly away

Dirty Boulevard - Lou Reed

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now Mid-August which meant he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin, and he to Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful.

But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of some neanderthal, finally submitting to the caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand how she really was. He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile. She needed him, and he wasn't there (Aw...).

The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers' Parade. He'd just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar fifty and then checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs. At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. And then it struck him. He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post, special delivery. And the next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium-sized cardboard box just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as going tourist.

So by Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He had marked the package "Fragile", and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of this before. Suddenly, rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he'd said he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo - but that seemed many years ago.

Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend, walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen. "Oh gawd, it's absolutely maudlin outside." "I know what you mean, I feel all icky!" Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up." Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't even talk about that." She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak," and then attempted to touch her knees. "I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again."

She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance. Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him." "I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. "The thing is, after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him. You know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," here she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to!" Now she was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the doorbell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room. "I dunno."

Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who it's from?" Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. "Ah, god, it's from Waldo!" "That schmuck!" said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the staple flap. "Ah sst," said Marsha, groaning, "he must have nailed it shut." They tugged on the flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get this thing open!" They pulled again. "You can't get a grip." They both stood still, breathing heavily.

"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter in her hand. "This is the best I could find." She was very out of breath. "Here, you do it. I-I'm gonna die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room. "God damn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then smiling, "I got an idea." "What?" said Marsha. "Just watch," said Sheila, touching her finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath, and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

The Gift - The Velvet Underground

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iI-oWE_m4Kk

Some people's hot
Some people's cold
Some people's not very
Swift to behold
Some people do it
Some see right through it
Some wear pojamas
If only they knew it

The pojama people are boring me to pieces

FZ

What's the ugliest

Of your body? (Nanana na na na)

What's the ugliest

(Weeweewoo) of your body?

(Naw naw naw naw)

Some say your nose (hey)

Some say your toes

But I think it's your mind

FZ

"Evelyn, A Modified Dog"
 

Evelyn, a modified dog
Viewed the quivering fringe of a special doily
Draped across the piano, with some surprise

In the darkened room
Where the chairs dismayed
And the horrible curtains
Muffled the rain
She could hardly believe her eyes

A curious breeze
A garlic breath
Which sounded like a snore
Somewhere near the Steinway (or even from within)
Had caused the doily fringe to waft & tremble in the gloom

Evelyn, a dog, having undergone
Further modification
Pondered the significance of short-person behavior
In pedal-depressed panchromatic resonance
And other highly ambient domains...

Arf she said

>Rutabaga, Rutabaga, 
Rutabaga, Rutabaga, 
Rutabay-y-y-y...