Insult Song (Extended Version)

White line fever
 I got it off the children of Captain Beefheart
 They'd been locked in the forest for many years
 They could not help it
 They were retards from the Los Angeles district
 There was Tim
 There was Tim 2
 There was Rob
 There was Dave the Eagle
 And the mad Greek woman, The Hydra
 It was White Line Fever
 Over and over again
 Over and over again
 They had us trapped in the hills
 Playing their Los Angeles music over and over
 It sounded like Amon Duul at first
 But in fact it was a plot by three of them
 We thought they wore masks
 Until we asked them to take them off
 They took the trout replica a bit too far
 They would copy Darkly My Love
 They were cool cats
 They were White Line Fever
 They were a bunch of twats
 White Line Fever
 White Line Fever
 Often on the beach they would play for ever and ever
 In the sandy surf of L.A. County
 One day they put their sandals on
 And decided to go in to Rochdale
 They were pretty outta sight
 Orpheo, the ancient name from Greece
 Orpheo, Tim Presley... how many names did they have?
 Nobody knew
 Was it Latin?
 Was it Yamaha?
 Nobody knew
 So they traveled like the born again Christians
 Or the Jehovah's Witnesses
 So they traveled and traveled
 Till they reached the holy town of Ro'dale
 And Nob End
 And Ramsbottom
 To find their true wagon, Christianity
 They were so happy!
 They were so happy, they could not describe it themselves!
 Festivals
 Sauna in the hotels
 Fantastic views of the English countryside
 They were besides themselves with happiness
 Their tour guide, Dave
 Put a stocking over his head, and you couldn't tell the difference
 Following their leader blindlessly and obeying in all goodness
 The long trail to the Lancashire hilltops
 Happy in their fulfillment
 Little did they know they were paying by the minute
 For the tape they were wasting