The White Boy Troubles Songtext
von Frank Zappa
The White Boy Troubles Songtext
The white boy troubles (white boy troubles)
The white boy troubles (boy got troubles)
Oh, what a burden (oh, heavy burden)
His car′s fucked up (ooh-ooh)
The boy got a problem
She ripped up de 'polstry (with the red dress on)
Outa dat O-zo-mobile (tell me, what I say)
Have to go to Tijuana now (I don′t have it)
He should go to brown Moses (ooh-ooh)
Way down in Egyp-Lainn (Egyp-Lainn)
Looks likes y'done putty good heahh, Harry-As-A-Boy
I sees ya' growin′ up like a weed, axmodently reproducin′ Yoseff an' everything
Done found some low-rent housin′ in a one-dimensional cardbode nativity box
On some Italian's funt lawn
Bunch o′ crab-grass underneath de offspring fo quick 'n easy sanitatium
Shit! Y′all probably be savin' up fo yo first lava lamp pretty soon
We're incredibly happy
Even though I′m gay for business purposes
My relationship with artificial Rhonda has blossomed into something really beautiful
Although I must confess to being baffled by how she got knocked up
Well, if de trufe be told, it were de father o′ de boy at de gas statium
When y'sent de ol′ lady in fo' de inner-tube patchin′, 'round de foth o′ July
Quentin? How could he be so unfaithful?
I'm sure God has ways of punishing naughty little guys like that
Mights well stop complainin', boy
De damage been done
Leastways y′all can pretend to be some kinda daddy
Yo′ rubber bitch ain't gwine change no diapers
Y′said y'all was incredibly happy
Enjoy it while y′got it, boy
De shit gwine hit de fan in a minute
What?
Something bad is going to happen?
You figgit out
Judgin' fum de intellectional expressium on yo′ beloved's ignorant face
The bitch gwine be contemplatin' a career of her own
See dat?
Look like she got her one good eye
On a briefcase ′n a tweed spo′t coat down de mall somewheres
Durin' de intromissium, few de sister seen her
Attendin′ a consciousness raisin' meetin′ over at The Hilton
That's right
Bitch passed up de mash potatoes ′n took off wit' the High School Cafeteria Butch
Makin' matters woise, de Italian dat be ownin′ yo′ nativity bungalow
Been wondrin' ′bouts de hanky an' de panky
′Tween you an' dem two concrete flamingos ovuh by de steps
You been messin′ wit de State Bird o' New Jersey, muthafucker
That can get you five to life in this vicinity
If you want a little friendly advice, boy
I'd be growin′ my ass up a little quicker, an′ whizz on outa here
Leave the ugly baby in the crab-grass
Snatch up yo' wretched excuse for a woman, an′ climb on up the heap
Get yo'self a job drivin′ a truck fulla string-beans to Utah
Make sumfin' out y′seff, so's y'can afode a ticket to de Mammy Nun Show
Den we can piss all ovuh de adulterated wimp you gwine become
An′ get de shit rollin′ agin'
The white boy troubles (boy got troubles)
Oh, what a burden (oh, heavy burden)
His car′s fucked up (ooh-ooh)
The boy got a problem
She ripped up de 'polstry (with the red dress on)
Outa dat O-zo-mobile (tell me, what I say)
Have to go to Tijuana now (I don′t have it)
He should go to brown Moses (ooh-ooh)
Way down in Egyp-Lainn (Egyp-Lainn)
Looks likes y'done putty good heahh, Harry-As-A-Boy
I sees ya' growin′ up like a weed, axmodently reproducin′ Yoseff an' everything
Done found some low-rent housin′ in a one-dimensional cardbode nativity box
On some Italian's funt lawn
Bunch o′ crab-grass underneath de offspring fo quick 'n easy sanitatium
Shit! Y′all probably be savin' up fo yo first lava lamp pretty soon
We're incredibly happy
Even though I′m gay for business purposes
My relationship with artificial Rhonda has blossomed into something really beautiful
Although I must confess to being baffled by how she got knocked up
Well, if de trufe be told, it were de father o′ de boy at de gas statium
When y'sent de ol′ lady in fo' de inner-tube patchin′, 'round de foth o′ July
Quentin? How could he be so unfaithful?
I'm sure God has ways of punishing naughty little guys like that
Mights well stop complainin', boy
De damage been done
Leastways y′all can pretend to be some kinda daddy
Yo′ rubber bitch ain't gwine change no diapers
Y′said y'all was incredibly happy
Enjoy it while y′got it, boy
De shit gwine hit de fan in a minute
What?
Something bad is going to happen?
You figgit out
Judgin' fum de intellectional expressium on yo′ beloved's ignorant face
The bitch gwine be contemplatin' a career of her own
See dat?
Look like she got her one good eye
On a briefcase ′n a tweed spo′t coat down de mall somewheres
Durin' de intromissium, few de sister seen her
Attendin′ a consciousness raisin' meetin′ over at The Hilton
That's right
Bitch passed up de mash potatoes ′n took off wit' the High School Cafeteria Butch
Makin' matters woise, de Italian dat be ownin′ yo′ nativity bungalow
Been wondrin' ′bouts de hanky an' de panky
′Tween you an' dem two concrete flamingos ovuh by de steps
You been messin′ wit de State Bird o' New Jersey, muthafucker
That can get you five to life in this vicinity
If you want a little friendly advice, boy
I'd be growin′ my ass up a little quicker, an′ whizz on outa here
Leave the ugly baby in the crab-grass
Snatch up yo' wretched excuse for a woman, an′ climb on up the heap
Get yo'self a job drivin′ a truck fulla string-beans to Utah
Make sumfin' out y′seff, so's y'can afode a ticket to de Mammy Nun Show
Den we can piss all ovuh de adulterated wimp you gwine become
An′ get de shit rollin′ agin'
Writer(s): Frank Zappa Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
