E depois vagueou
Através da porta
Como uma sombra vinda da tumba
Disse que a aparelhagem era quadrifónica
E eu amei-a no seu quarto
Disse que era
Uma Mãe Mágica
E me podia lançar um tarot maléfico
E prosseguiu sem hesitar
Dizia que era alguém que eu devia conhecer
(Isso é um poncho verdadeiro... quero dizer
É um poncho mexicano ou é da Sears?
Hmmm... não me digas...)
OVERNITE SENSATION. Camarillo Brillo. She had that / Camarillo brillo / Flamin' out along her head, / I mean her Mendocino bean-o / By where some bugs had made it red // She ruled the Toads of the Short Forest / And every newt in Idaho / And every cricket who had chorused / By the bush in Buffalo // She said she was / A Magic Mama / And she could throw a mean Tarot / And carried on without a comma / That she was someone I should know // She had a snake for a pet / And an amulet / And she was breeding a dwarf / But she wasn't done yet / She had gray-green skin / A doll with a pin / I told her she was awright / But I couldn't come in / (I couldn't come in right then...) // And so she wandered / Through the door-way / Just like a shadow from the tomb / She said her stereo was four-way / An' I'd just love it in her room // Well, I was born / To have adventure / So I just followed up the steps / Right past her fuming incense stencher / To where she hung her castanet // She stripped away / Her rancid poncho / An' laid out naked by the door / We did it till we were un-concho / An' it was useless any more // She had a snake for a pet / And an amulet / And she was breeding a dwarf / But she wasn't done yet / She had gray-green skin / A doll with a pin / I told her she was awright / But I couldn't come in / (actually, I was very busy then) // And so she wandered / Through the door-way / Just like a shadow from the tomb / She said her stereo was four-way / An' I'd just love it in her room // Well, I was born / To have adventure / So I just followed up the steps / Right past her fuming incense stencher / To where she hung her castanets // She said she was / A Magic Mama / And she could throw a mean Tarot / And carried on without a comma / That she was someone I should know // (Is that a real poncho . . . I mean / Is that a Mexican poncho or is that a Sears poncho? / Hmmm . . . no foolin' . . . )
Frank Zappa, 1973.