Old Fart At Play - Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band

pappy with the khaki sweatband, bowed goat potbellied barnyard that only he noticed, the old fart was smart, the old gold cloth madonna, dancin' to the fiddle and saw, he ran down behind the knoll, and slipped on his wooden fishhead, the mouth worked and snapped all the bees back to the bungalow, mama was flattenin' lard, with her red enamel rolling pin, when the fishhead broke the window, rubber eye erect and precisely detailed, airholes from which breath should come, is now closely fit, with the chatter of the old fart inside, an assortment of observations took place, mama licked her lips like a cat, pecked the ground like a rooster, pivoted like a duck, her stockings down caught dust and doughballs, she cracked her mouth glaze, caught one eyelash, rubbed her hands on her gorgeous gingham, her hands grasped sticky metal intricate latchwork, open to the room, a smell cold mixed with bologna, rubber bands crumpled wax paper bonnets, fat goose legs and special jellies, ignited by the warmth of the room, the old fart smelled this through his important breather holes, cleverly he dialed from within from the outside we observed, that the nose of the wooden mask, where the holes had just been a moment ago, was now smooth amazingly blended camouflaged in, with the very intricate rainbow trout replica, the old fart inside was now breathing freely, from his perfume bottle atomizer air bulb invention, his excited eyes from within the dark interior glazed, watered in appreciation of his thoughtful preparation, oh man, so heavy