Broken Hearts Are For Assholes
Contents
Lyrics
Hey, now, hey!
Hey! Do you know what you are?
You're an asshole! ASSHOLE!
Some of you might not agree
'Cause you probably likes a lot of misery
But think a while and you will see . . .
Broken hearts are for assholes
Broken hearts are for assholes
Are you an asshole?
Broken hearts are for assholes
Are you an asshole too?
Whatcha gonna do, 'cause you're an asshole . . .
No no no, yeah yeah yeah
I said
You . . . are . . . an ASSHOLE!
Maybe you think you're a lonely guy
'N maybe you think you're too tough to cry
So you went to The Grape,
Just to give it a try
And Dagmar
Without a doubt, the ugliest sonofabitch I've ever seen in my life
Was his name . . .
One Two Three Four!
The whiskers sticking out from underneath of his Pancake make-up
And yet he was a beautiful lady
Nearly drove you insane
Let's talk about Leather: LEATHERRRRRR
And so you kissed a little sailor
Tex Abel, starring in the latest Shepperton Production:
Who had just blew in from Spain
"Sir Richard Pump-A-Loaf"
You sniffed the reeking buns of Angel
The tale of a demented bread-boffer
And acted like it was cocaine
Cucumber pud annexed to a fine whole-wheat loaf
You were dazzled by the exciting new costume of Ko-Ko
Then on Tuesday night, Ceasar's back in town
In a way you can't explain
Facing off in a no-holds-barred tag team grudge match
With Kona . . .
And so you worked the wall with Michael
Three-hundred and seventy-nine pounds of Samoan dynamite
Which gave your back an awful strain
Volcanic Hell
But you came back on Sunday for the gong shows
Next Thursday, teen town's finest
But you forgot what I was sayin'
'Cause you're an asshole, You're an asshole
That's right
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
Yes, yes
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
That's right
You're an asshole, you're an asshole
Well, now you been to The Grape, been to The Chest
Now I think you know what you are: you're an asshole
You say you can't live with what you've been through
Well, ladies you can be an asshole too
You might pretend you ain't got one on the bottom of you
But don't fool yerself girl
It's lookin' at you
Don't fool yerself girl
It's winkin' at you
Don't fool yerself girl
It's blinkin' at you
That's why I say
I'm gonna ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
Corn hole
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
Fist fuck
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
Wrist-watch: Crisco
Ram it, ram it, ram it
Ram it up yer poop chute
Pud!
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
(Ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poop chute
(Ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer poooop chute
(Ay ay ay ay ay ay ay ay)
Don't fool yerself, girl,
It's goin' right up yer . . .
Players On This Song
- Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
- Adrian Belew (rhythm guitar, vocals)
- Tommy Mars (keyboards, vocals)
- Peter Wolf (keyboards)
- Patrick O'Hearn (bass, vocals)
- Terry Bozzio (drums, vocals)
- Ed Mann (percussion, vocals)
- Napoleon Murphy Brock (background vocals)
- Andre Lewis (background vocals)
- Randy Thornton (background vocals)
- Davey Moire (background vocals)
