What if Christmas didn't come this year
and no one paid for Christmas cheer?
Who would cry the biggest tear,
the child or the store?
Why do brides wear virgin white?
Most do not deserve that right.
But to choose a color of their delight
would surely bring on the frowns.
To defy the laws of tradition
is a crusade only of the brave.
Suppose the taxman, he comes to town,
and you don't lay your money down.
Yet Mr. Jones he killed Mr. Brown the other day.
Well I wonder, who's gonna go to hell.
Primus - Frizzle Fry Album Lyrics
Primus - Frizzle Fry Lyrics
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER, TODD HUTH
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Groundhog's Day
When I woke up this mornin' I felt a pang.
I was hungerin' for some apple pie.
Stumble in the bathroom, hung my hog a little bit.
Washed the sleep out of my eye.
Oh yeah, it's gonna be a fine day.
Scratched myself a bit.
Poured me out a bowl-a corn chex.
Closest thing I could find to apple pie.
Lingerin' taste of toothpaste
Made the milk go down a bit funny.
But you know, them chex they do satisfy.
Oh yeah, this'll be a fine day.
So, after my mornin' rise-n-shine and eat-n-clean.
Had my mind set to hit them streets.
Drizzle from the night left cold puddles out.
Had my black stomp-boots on my feet.
It's my day.
Since I was in kneepants my pop had tried to make me realize.
If I set my mind down to it I could be a big man in the public eye.
So with my big blue collar on,
I set out to find the easy way. What an
Ice cold bath it was when I found you had to pay to play.
To taste the taste it's a tease that never would subside.
The taste is strong but soured by my learned eyes.
Well, if a woodchuck could chuck wood,
He'd get down on his knees to pray.
This little snappy boy might see
The light this ground hog's day.
I was hungerin' for some apple pie.
Stumble in the bathroom, hung my hog a little bit.
Washed the sleep out of my eye.
Oh yeah, it's gonna be a fine day.
Scratched myself a bit.
Poured me out a bowl-a corn chex.
Closest thing I could find to apple pie.
Lingerin' taste of toothpaste
Made the milk go down a bit funny.
But you know, them chex they do satisfy.
Oh yeah, this'll be a fine day.
So, after my mornin' rise-n-shine and eat-n-clean.
Had my mind set to hit them streets.
Drizzle from the night left cold puddles out.
Had my black stomp-boots on my feet.
It's my day.
Since I was in kneepants my pop had tried to make me realize.
If I set my mind down to it I could be a big man in the public eye.
So with my big blue collar on,
I set out to find the easy way. What an
Ice cold bath it was when I found you had to pay to play.
To taste the taste it's a tease that never would subside.
The taste is strong but soured by my learned eyes.
Well, if a woodchuck could chuck wood,
He'd get down on his knees to pray.
This little snappy boy might see
The light this ground hog's day.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER, TODD HUTH
Copyright: Lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing
Too Many Puppies
Too many puppies are being shot in the dark.
Too many puppies are trained not to bark.
At the sight of blood that must be spille dso that
We may maintain our oil fields.
Too many puppies
Too many puppies are taught to heal.
Too many puppies are trained to kill.
On the command of men wearing money belts that buy
mistresses sleek animal pelts.
Too many puppies.
Too many puppies with guns in their hands.
Too many puppies in foreign lands.
Are dressed up sharp in suits of green and
Placed upon the war machine.
Too many puppies are just like me.
Too many puppies are afraid to see.
The visions of the past brought to life again,
Too many puppies, too many dead men.
Too many puppies are trained not to bark.
At the sight of blood that must be spille dso that
We may maintain our oil fields.
Too many puppies
Too many puppies are taught to heal.
Too many puppies are trained to kill.
On the command of men wearing money belts that buy
mistresses sleek animal pelts.
Too many puppies.
Too many puppies with guns in their hands.
Too many puppies in foreign lands.
Are dressed up sharp in suits of green and
Placed upon the war machine.
Too many puppies are just like me.
Too many puppies are afraid to see.
The visions of the past brought to life again,
Too many puppies, too many dead men.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, REID L. III LALONDE, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Mr. Knowitall
They call me Mr. Knowitall
I will not compromise.
I will not be told what to do.
I shall not step aside.
They call me Mr. Knowitall
I have no time to waste.
My mouth it spews pure intellect.
And I've such elegant taste.
They call me Mr. Knowitall.
I sup the aged wine.
Oh I could tell such wonderous tales
if I should find the time.
I must be Mr. Knowitall
For ideas they come in bounds.
I am Mr. Knowitall
So spread the word around.
They call me Mr. Knowitall
I am so eloquent.
Perfection is my middle name
And whatever rhymes with eloquent.
I will not compromise.
I will not be told what to do.
I shall not step aside.
They call me Mr. Knowitall
I have no time to waste.
My mouth it spews pure intellect.
And I've such elegant taste.
They call me Mr. Knowitall.
I sup the aged wine.
Oh I could tell such wonderous tales
if I should find the time.
I must be Mr. Knowitall
For ideas they come in bounds.
I am Mr. Knowitall
So spread the word around.
They call me Mr. Knowitall
I am so eloquent.
Perfection is my middle name
And whatever rhymes with eloquent.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, REID L. III LALONDE, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Frizzle Fry
Hello all you boys and girls.
I'd like to take you to the inside world.
It's quite an irregular place to be.
But never fear you're safe with me.
Well, maybe.
Golden hair of macrame'
Against the face that's cut from stone.
The white porcelain is screaming Ayee
Thank God the the boy is not alone.
I don't believe in Santa Claus.
I don't belive in spite.
I have no use for beauty dolls.
Especially on this night.
I don't believe in miracles.
I don't belive in lies.
I don't belive in hologram
For I am the Frizzle Fry.
Andy's painting green again,
This time they might take him away.
When Barrington starts to breathe again.
It way just take us all away.
I don't believe in charity.
I don't believe in sin.
And if you don't believe in me,
We'll play this tune over again.
I don't believe in pinochle
And I don't beleive I'll try.
I do believe in Captain Crunch
For I am the Frizzle Fry.
Yes I am the Frizzle Fry.
I'd like to take you to the inside world.
It's quite an irregular place to be.
But never fear you're safe with me.
Well, maybe.
Golden hair of macrame'
Against the face that's cut from stone.
The white porcelain is screaming Ayee
Thank God the the boy is not alone.
I don't believe in Santa Claus.
I don't belive in spite.
I have no use for beauty dolls.
Especially on this night.
I don't believe in miracles.
I don't belive in lies.
I don't belive in hologram
For I am the Frizzle Fry.
Andy's painting green again,
This time they might take him away.
When Barrington starts to breathe again.
It way just take us all away.
I don't believe in charity.
I don't believe in sin.
And if you don't believe in me,
We'll play this tune over again.
I don't believe in pinochle
And I don't beleive I'll try.
I do believe in Captain Crunch
For I am the Frizzle Fry.
Yes I am the Frizzle Fry.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER, TODD HUTH
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
John The Fisherman
When he was young you'd not find him doing well in school,
His mind would turn unto the waters.
Always the focus of adolescent ridicule,
He has no time for farmer's daughters.
Alienated from the clique society,
A lonely boy finds peace in fishing.
His mother says "John this is not the way life's supposed to be."
"Don't you see the life that you are missing?"
And he says...
When I grow up I want to be,
One of the harvesters of the sea.
I think before my days are done,
I want to be a fisherman.
Now years gone by we find man that rules the sea.
He sets out on a dark May morning .
To bring his catch back to this small community.
He doesn't see the danger dawning.
Four hours up, oh the ocean swelled and swelled,
The fog rolled in it started raining.
"The starboard bow." "Oh my God we're going down!"
They do not hear his frantic mayday.
As he says
When I grow up I want to be,
One of the harvesters of the sea.
I think before my days are done,
I want to be a fisherman.
"I'll live and die a fisherman."
Calling John the Fisherman
Calling John the Fisherman
They're calling John the Fisherman
His mind would turn unto the waters.
Always the focus of adolescent ridicule,
He has no time for farmer's daughters.
Alienated from the clique society,
A lonely boy finds peace in fishing.
His mother says "John this is not the way life's supposed to be."
"Don't you see the life that you are missing?"
And he says...
When I grow up I want to be,
One of the harvesters of the sea.
I think before my days are done,
I want to be a fisherman.
Now years gone by we find man that rules the sea.
He sets out on a dark May morning .
To bring his catch back to this small community.
He doesn't see the danger dawning.
Four hours up, oh the ocean swelled and swelled,
The fog rolled in it started raining.
"The starboard bow." "Oh my God we're going down!"
They do not hear his frantic mayday.
As he says
When I grow up I want to be,
One of the harvesters of the sea.
I think before my days are done,
I want to be a fisherman.
"I'll live and die a fisherman."
Calling John the Fisherman
Calling John the Fisherman
They're calling John the Fisherman
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER, TODD HUTH
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher
The Toys Go Winding Down
An overaged boy of thirty-nine has left the wing today.
The first time in his life he's made that step.
Be numbed by the society and plagued by insecurity.
He's entered in a race that must be won.
One of the animals has left its cage today
IN search of better things so it seems to be.
But in this land of polyurethane,
Things are apt to get a bit hot.
As the toys go winding down.
C.G. the Mexican is a friend of mine.
We used to sit around the house watching evil dead.
Talking about the way it used to be...
We used to pull the strippers out of Sand Pablo bay.
Now the delta waters go down So. Cal.
And the strippers start to fade away.
It's pudding time!
It's pudding time!
As the toys go winding down.
The first time in his life he's made that step.
Be numbed by the society and plagued by insecurity.
He's entered in a race that must be won.
One of the animals has left its cage today
IN search of better things so it seems to be.
But in this land of polyurethane,
Things are apt to get a bit hot.
As the toys go winding down.
C.G. the Mexican is a friend of mine.
We used to sit around the house watching evil dead.
Talking about the way it used to be...
We used to pull the strippers out of Sand Pablo bay.
Now the delta waters go down So. Cal.
And the strippers start to fade away.
It's pudding time!
It's pudding time!
As the toys go winding down.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, REID L. III LALONDE, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Pudding Time
You can have a lolly pop
a candy bar a jelly bean.
I'll buy you a rainbow
to hang above your door.
It's pudding time.
Laughter is a sweet
You can't put a price on.
When laughter's all gone
Daddy won't buy you more.
It's pudding time.
It's pudding time children.
Money money monye
To buy you things.
Daddy's gonna buy you a
diamond ring.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the kings horses and all the kings men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
San Francisco bay the
Striped bass are dying.
But you're gonna get
That brand new bike
Oh joy
It's pudding time
It's pudding time children.
a candy bar a jelly bean.
I'll buy you a rainbow
to hang above your door.
It's pudding time.
Laughter is a sweet
You can't put a price on.
When laughter's all gone
Daddy won't buy you more.
It's pudding time.
It's pudding time children.
Money money monye
To buy you things.
Daddy's gonna buy you a
diamond ring.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the kings horses and all the kings men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
San Francisco bay the
Striped bass are dying.
But you're gonna get
That brand new bike
Oh joy
It's pudding time
It's pudding time children.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER, TODD HUTH
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Sathington Willoughby
We are gathered here
Today in these majestic
halls of old to honor
a man they call
Sathington Willoughby.
There's a joke or two,
A pun or three
I feel that must be
told then I go on to
speak of Sathington Willoughby.
Sathington Willoughby
the legislator that
penned us up a bill
that banned the use
of certain things like this and that.
Today in these majestic
halls of old to honor
a man they call
Sathington Willoughby.
There's a joke or two,
A pun or three
I feel that must be
told then I go on to
speak of Sathington Willoughby.
Sathington Willoughby
the legislator that
penned us up a bill
that banned the use
of certain things like this and that.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, REID L. III LALONDE, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
Spegetti Western
Why do we do this C.G. and I?
Every night vegetables...
Minds numbed up by T.H.C.
I've got my pen, C.G. the remote.
Laurel and Hardy's the best bet at 4 A.M. on a Friday.
No dreads about the working day after though.
Funny thing about weekends when you're unemployed.
They don't mean quite so much, except you get to hang out with your working friends.
Well, we got us a spaghetti western on 36.
I like spaghetti westerns.
I like the way the boots are all reverbed out walking across the hard wood floors.
In fact everything's got that big reverb sound!
Well, what'll I do now?
Go to sleep!
Pull the pud!
We need new pornos!
Well, I guess I'm still writing
Every night vegetables...
Minds numbed up by T.H.C.
I've got my pen, C.G. the remote.
Laurel and Hardy's the best bet at 4 A.M. on a Friday.
No dreads about the working day after though.
Funny thing about weekends when you're unemployed.
They don't mean quite so much, except you get to hang out with your working friends.
Well, we got us a spaghetti western on 36.
I like spaghetti westerns.
I like the way the boots are all reverbed out walking across the hard wood floors.
In fact everything's got that big reverb sound!
Well, what'll I do now?
Go to sleep!
Pull the pud!
We need new pornos!
Well, I guess I'm still writing
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, REID L. III LALONDE, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER
Copyright: Lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing
Harold Of The Rocks
It was a weekend's eve,
I had sex on my breath
I was lookin' for somethin' to see.
With a borrowed black
leather and my best fishin' hat.
Well it was just Wendy O. and me.
We called old Swamp
Up on the telephone
And said we was comin' on
Down to pick him up
and then, he said,
"Hey Snappy, me and Greeny'll come along -
But only if we can bring a friend."
"His name is Harold."
I said "Okay."
Now, we had a
Swamper, Greeny, Wendy O, Stanley, Harold of the Rocks and me.
We hopped into my dart
And headed for the nightbreak
To see a man they call Schooly D.
Harold he's a friendly guy.
He rambles on and on.
He'll talk the balls off
a rhinosaurus.
fact is he jsut doesn't
make much sense.
Well Stan said
"This guy's pretty bizarre Gus."
Harold of the Rocks.
I saw Harold at a
party Trouzy threw
Late one night.
I said, "hey man,
Do you remember me?"
He said, "O' course
I do Snapdad and
Let me tell ya right
'Bout now I'm lit
Up like an ol' Christmas tree."
Hey bro you know I'd
like to thank you once
Again for let'n me
Hang with ya' all across
The bay. when I
Look back at that
night I get me a
Warm spot across my heart."
Then he shook my
hand, and walked away.
That's teh last I
Seen of Harold.
Harold of the Rocks.
So in the end,
Swamper and Greeny
Finally succumb to
The ways of Harold.
And in doing so
Each gave just a little bit
Of his soul away.
What a couple of dumbshits.
I had sex on my breath
I was lookin' for somethin' to see.
With a borrowed black
leather and my best fishin' hat.
Well it was just Wendy O. and me.
We called old Swamp
Up on the telephone
And said we was comin' on
Down to pick him up
and then, he said,
"Hey Snappy, me and Greeny'll come along -
But only if we can bring a friend."
"His name is Harold."
I said "Okay."
Now, we had a
Swamper, Greeny, Wendy O, Stanley, Harold of the Rocks and me.
We hopped into my dart
And headed for the nightbreak
To see a man they call Schooly D.
Harold he's a friendly guy.
He rambles on and on.
He'll talk the balls off
a rhinosaurus.
fact is he jsut doesn't
make much sense.
Well Stan said
"This guy's pretty bizarre Gus."
Harold of the Rocks.
I saw Harold at a
party Trouzy threw
Late one night.
I said, "hey man,
Do you remember me?"
He said, "O' course
I do Snapdad and
Let me tell ya right
'Bout now I'm lit
Up like an ol' Christmas tree."
Hey bro you know I'd
like to thank you once
Again for let'n me
Hang with ya' all across
The bay. when I
Look back at that
night I get me a
Warm spot across my heart."
Then he shook my
hand, and walked away.
That's teh last I
Seen of Harold.
Harold of the Rocks.
So in the end,
Swamper and Greeny
Finally succumb to
The ways of Harold.
And in doing so
Each gave just a little bit
Of his soul away.
What a couple of dumbshits.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER, TODD HUTH
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
To Defy
What if Christmas didn't come this year
And no one paid for Christmas cheer?
Who would cry the biggest tear,
The child or the store?
Why do brides wear virgin white?
Most do not deserve that right.
But to choose a color of their delight
Would surely bring on the frowns.
To defy the laws of tradition
Is a crusade only of the brave.
Suppose the taxman, he comes to town,
And you don't lay your money down.
Yet Mr. Jones he killed Mr. Brown the other day.
Well I wonder, who's gonna go to hell.
And no one paid for Christmas cheer?
Who would cry the biggest tear,
The child or the store?
Why do brides wear virgin white?
Most do not deserve that right.
But to choose a color of their delight
Would surely bring on the frowns.
To defy the laws of tradition
Is a crusade only of the brave.
Suppose the taxman, he comes to town,
And you don't lay your money down.
Yet Mr. Jones he killed Mr. Brown the other day.
Well I wonder, who's gonna go to hell.
Writer: LES CLAYPOOL, TIMOTHY W. ALEXANDER, TODD HUTH
Copyright: Lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing
Frizzle Fry is the debut studio album by American rock band Primus. It was released on February 7, 1990, by Caroline Records. Produced by the band and Matt Winegar, the album was recorded at Different Fur Studios in San Francisco in December 1989.
Performed By:
PrimusGenre(s): Funk metal, alternative metal
Producer(s): Primus, Matt Winegar
Length: 51:23
Released: February 7th, 1990
Year: 1990