Frank zappa (lead guitar, vocals)Elliot ingber (rhythm guitar)Roy estrada (bass)Jimmy carl black (drums)Ray collins (tambourine)The kids are freaking outEverybody’s goin’ nutsThe heats out every nightTo call up names and kick thier buttsBut everytime you turn aroundYou’ll see some joker staring backHe’s got a secret tape recorderAnd a camera in a sackPretending that he’s just anotherOf the kiddies freaking outBut they pay him off in acidCos he’s a downtown talent scoutHe’s got your nameAnd he’s got your faceHe’s got your ex-old lady’s placeHe’s here to see what’s goin downAnd they don’t believe the things he’s foundThe badges gleam and the minors screamWhen he pulls on the sceneThey got no warrants in their pocketsBut that badge makes them supremeYou kids are smoking dandelionsYou’re sniffing paper bags babyYou’re dropping good n’ plentiesWe can tell your posture sagsNow line up here against the wallYour bodies frail and thinAnd open up your pocketsWhile we dump the evidence inWell they know that smoking flowersWon’t win a case in courtAnd they know that good n’ plentiesAren’t the psychedelic sortBut they tear your place apartBecause they simply couldn’t passA chance to drag some freaks downtownFor smoking devil grassWell you never get your day in courtThe food downtown is foulThe day of trial you nearly dieWith maggots in your bowelBut modern law and justiceHas advanced to such a pointThat a jury trial is uselessThey simply take you to the jointCause after all you look so freakyHow could anyone believeThat what you think and what you feelComes close at all to what is realBlow your harmonica son