Forbidden Zone Page #3

you'll know she'll be your friend''

When I turned 13, I spat in my poppa's eye

Took off to find my man

'cause I couldn't find a wife

I spread-eagled in a lot of towns

I couldn't find no man to lay me down

They were so busy a-cock-a-doodle-doin'

But they still couldn't nail me down

So I grew up lonesome

knowing there'd be no man

or woman to get me goin' through this life

'Cause I was hatched out of a witch's egg

Been doomed to fly high

like a crane with no legs

I laid down with the Devil

and his sidekick, mankind

But somethin' called lovin'

made me hungry inside

So I went to the Lord

and I asked him for more

than what this world could offer

I laid down with him and I had to grin

'cause he was shyer than a flower

Now thanks to the Lord I've been set free

My lover is the trade winds

that take me out to sea

My life is like nobody else's

There's only one of me

'Cause I was hatched

out of a witch's egg

Been doomed to fly high

Like a crane with no legs

Pleures, pleures, oh pleures

Pleures, pleures sur ton malheur

Pleures, pleures, oh pleures

Pleures, pleures triste coeur

Pleures, pleures, oh pleures, pleures

Pleures, mouills les fleurs

Pleures, pleures, pleures, pleures

Pleures sur ton bonheur

-Doris, you surprised me.

-Just what do you think you're pulling here?

-I was just only looking at her.

-Oh, yeah?

Listen, buster, looking's dangerous.

Next thing you know,

you'll be sucking on her mangoes.

My, my, aren't you a jealous one?

Well, why shouldn't I be?

It gets on my nerves, you know.

You know, I must have my army.

I'm not about to compromise my position

in life, my ancestry...

my tradition, for your silly little suspicions.

Your army!

Where is your precious army?

I will have a whole army of Zombie.

A Zombie Marine Corps...

a Zombie Navy Corps,

a Zombie Space Cadets--

You're really out to lunch.

Look at this world you've cooked up.

And you expect

to take over another universe?

You dumb f***.

Just wait until these dead babies

start marching...

and you'll be eating your words.

I am waiting, Your Majesty,

waiting for you to tell me...

why that French slit is so special to you,

and why you carry her photograph...

around in your pocket.

All right, I'll tell you.

She's French, and that's simple.

And therefore, she's of the master race...

a direct descendant of God, just like me.

Direct descendant of God?

You just want to slip her the pork.

That does it.

I'm hopping the next bus out of here.

You cannot mean that.

What will you do?

Just go on living, I guess.

Oh, chrie, ma petite coquette,

ma petite princesse.

Mon petit chou, c'est rien.

Harder.

Frenchy! Harder!

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