Lyrics Brown Shoes Don't Make It - Frank Zappa, The Mothers Of Invention

Brown Shoes Don't Make It - Frank Zappa, The Mothers Of Invention
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Brown Shoes Don't Make It, artist - Frank Zappa.
Date of issue: 31.12.2011
Song language: English

Brown Shoes Don't Make It

Brown shoes don’t make it Brown Shoes don’t make it Quit school, why fake it Brown shoes don’t make it TV dinner by the pool
Watch your brother grow a beard
Got another year of school
You’re okay, he’s too weird
Be a plummer
He’s a bummer
He’s a bummer every summer
Be a loyal plastic robot
For a world that doesn’t care
That’s right
Smile at every ugly
Shine on your shoes and cut your hair
Be a jerk-go to work
Be a jerk-go to work
Be a jerk-go to work
Be a jerk-go to work
Do your job, and do it right
Life’s a ball
TV tonight
Do you love it Do you hate it There it is The way you made it A world of secret hungers
Perverting the men who make your laws
Every desire is hidden away
In a drawer in a desk by a Naugahyde chair
On a rug where they walk and drool
Past the girls in the office
We see in the back
Of the City Hall mind
The dream of a girl about thirteen
Off with her clothes and into a bed
Where she tickles his fancy
All night long
His wile’s attending an orchid show
She squealed for a week to get him to go But back in the bed his teen-age queen
Is rocking and rolling and acting obscene
Baby, baby..
Baby, baby.. .
Cimmie then cakes, uh!
If I do I’m gonna lose my…
And he loves it, he loves it It curls up his toes
She wipes his fat neck
And it lights up his nose
But he cannot be fooled
Old City Hall Fred
She’s nasty, she’s nasty
She digs it in bed
That’s right
Do it again, ha And do it some more
Hey, that does it, by golly
And she’s nasty for sure
Nasty nasty nasty
Nasty nasty nasty
Only thirteen, and she knows how to nasty
She’s a dirty young mind, corrupted
Corroded
Well she’s thirteen today
And I hear she gets loaded
If she were my daughter, I’d…
What would you do, Frankie?
If she were my daughter, I’d …
What would you do, Frankie?
Check this out
Smother my daughter in chocolate syrup
And strap her on again, oh baby
Smother that girl in chocolate syrup
And strap her on again, oh baby
She’s my teen-age baby
She turns me on
I’d like to make her do a nasty
On the White House lawn
Smother my daughter in chocolate syrup
And boogie 'till the cows come home
Time to go home
Madge is on the phone
Got to meet the Gurney’s and a dozen gray attorneys
TV dinner by the pool
I’m so glad I finished school
Life is such a ball
I run the world from City Hall

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Artist lyrics: Frank Zappa
Artist lyrics: The Mothers Of Invention