Lyrics: Won Ton On

NOT REALLY HARRY'S VOICE:
ECUAS-NZBE?

THING-FISH:
Whiff it, Boy! Whiff it good, now! MAMMIES, step forward 'n try t'git on down
wit dem BROADWAY ZOMBIES! Dis de closin' numbuh, now! MOSES! Git yo'
brown ass ovuh heah! Leave de Co-log-nuh alone fo' a minnit. Whyn'tcha go
on 'n cornhole ya' some EVIL PRINCE! I B'lieve he done evolved to de point
where he kin hannle it now!

See dat? Uh-huh! Look like he severely enjoyin' it awready! Sound like he
enjoyin' it, too! Wuh- Oh! I smells trubba! Look like he got de eeyah- noosht!
Ain't no two ways about it.

The MAMMIES dance tangos with the ZOMBIES, (eventually hurling them
offstage), the EVIL PRINCE corn-holes RHONDA (who doesn't even notice
as she waves her magic-wand fountain pen around for HARRY to follow),
THING-FISH snatches up THE CRAB-GRASS BABY and OB'DEWLLA
(one in each hand), shaking them like maracas, while twirl-dancing
around the yard, HARRY-AS- A-BOY and the ARTIFICIAL RHONDA
re-appear, chasing after the infant, QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND
corn-holes BROWN MOSES. OPAL rides the bull while FRANCESCO
gives her an enema. The nativity box rotates erratically, deli- vering
DUTCH MIDGETS who offer onions to the audience.

THING-FISH:
'Fo y'all departs, I jes' wish to say in conclu- sium, as matters o' dis
gravity gen'rally re- quire some type o' philosomical post-scription,
dat what y'all have witnessed heah tonight were a TRUE STORY -
only de names o' de potatoes have been changed to protect de innocent.

GALOOT CO-LOG-NUH! DON'T BUY IT, PEOPLES! Dis have been a
public service ernouncemint. Wave good-night to de white folks, '
DEWLLA!

A conga-line is formed. They all exit through the audience, except for
FRANCESCO, THING-FISH & SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X' (the CRAB-GRASS
BABY has been returned to HARRY-AS-A-BOY and ARTIFICIAL RHONDA).

RHONDA:
This is SYMBOLISM, HARRY!

HARRY:
...not the stuff that 'Freckles' lets out!

RHONDA:
This is SYMBOLISM! Really deep, intense, thought-provoking Broadway
SYMBOLISM. Really Modern, HARRY...

HARRY:
Take your hand off that chain, honey!

RHONDA:
Fuck that briefcases...

HARRY:
...not the briefcase...