"Long Live Père Ubu!" (2009)

Song Of The Grocery Police
Mère Ubu
Are you content with your lot? Are you content with your lot?

Père Ubu
Woman, I am content. A Captain of dragoons. King Venceslas' right hand man. Decorated with the Order of the Red Eagle of Poland. Retired King of Aragon. I could be happy with so much less.

Mère Ubu
You deserve the Crown of Poland. Take it all. Take it all. Take it all. Have a ball.

Père Ubu
Woman. The king is very much alive and he has many children. He will squeeze my noodle in a noodle vise 'til green snot splatters the king's pink shoes.

Mère Ubu
You deserve the Crown of Poland. Kill them all. Kill them all. Kill them all. Have a ball.

Père Ubu
If I were king I'd have a big sombrero like I had in Aragon which those louts the Spaniards stole from me so shamefully.

Mère Ubu
You could have a big sombrero...

Père Ubu
Will I yield to temptation? Will I yield to temptation?

Mère Ubu
... and a great big cloak that would keep your feet afloat.

Père Ubu
I'd be a rat if I did that. I'd be a rat if I did that.

Mère Ubu
You could have a big sombrero.

Père Ubu
What of it?

Mère Ubu
Still, I reckon I've shaken him all the same.
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Banquet Of The Butchers
Mère Ubu
Soupe Polonaise. Wombat ribs. Veal. Chicken. Dog pie. Pope's nose of turkey. Charlotte russe. Ice pudding. Salad. Fruit. Boiled beef. Artichoke a la merdre. Cauliflower a la merdre.

Père Ubu
What! Do you think that I am the Emperor of Fancy Land that you spend such a lot!? Come let's eat to my fill as we plot how to kill the king and his heirs cutting them half into squares. Cutting them half into squares. Boiling them under the stairs. My good friends! It's time to decide on our plot for this regicide.

Cpt. Ordura
Let's hear everyone's views.

Père Ubu
We should poison the King with a turd in his lunch. He'll fall down dead when he starts in to munch and I will be King.

Mère Ubu
Pooh, what a vile thing!

Cpt. Ordura
I think we should give him a terrible blow that splits him open from head unto toe with a sword.

The Palcontents
That's noble. Gallant. Refined and savant.

Mère Ubu
What if he kicks you because on Review he wears great iron-clad shoes that hurt very much and leave a great stain?

Père Ubu
If I had any sense I'd denounce you myself. Get out of this mess and get me some cash for my pain.

Mère Ubu
Traitor. A coward. Villainous skunk!

The Palcontents
Down with Père Ubu the hideous punk. He's dirty and stupid. A piteous drunk.

Mère Ubu
Traitor. A coward. Villainous skunk!

Cpt. Ordura
I think it'd be good in the way that we should throw ourselves on him all at once bawling and shouting. Calling and clouting.

Père Ubu
Then it's agreed. I'll tread on his toes. He'll kick out at me. "Merdre!" I bellow and into the fray you will fly. Into the fray you will fly then I will be King.
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.



March Of Greed
Mère Ubu
Well. You've killed King Venceslas. What a shambles of a day! And you flattened nearly all his family in your haste to run away from the fight. But you wear the Crown of Poland.

Cpt. Ordura and The Palcontents
Long live Père Ubu!

Mère Ubu
You wear the Big Sombrero.

Cpt. Ordura and The Palcontents
Long live Père Ubu!

Mère Ubu
And now it is the time time time to play the part of Nero.

Père Ubu
What! Do you want to ruin me for these pig-bladdered buffoons that I rule?

Cpt. Ordura
Don't you see the people are waiting for the gift of the joyous accession?

Mère Ubu
If you don't hand over some meat and gold you'll be thrown out on your big ass in a few hours.

Père Ubu
Meat yes. Gold no. Kill a few old donkeys. It's good enough for asses.

Mère Ubu
If you're stupid with your handout they'll moan about the taxes.

Père Ubu
Is that true?

Cpt. Ordura
Of course it is.

Père Ubu
Then I agree to everything!

Narrator
Mere and Père Ubu and Cpt. Ordura go out onto a balcony overlooking the courtyard of the palace. Which is full of people.

Père Ubu
I agree to everything!

The Crowd
Hurray for Père Ubu!

Père Ubu
I agree to everything!

The Crowd
Long Live Père Ubu!

Père Ubu
I agree to everything!

The Crowd
Hurray for Père Ubu!

Père Ubu
I'll agree to anything.

The Crowd
Long Live Père Ubu!

Narrator
Père Ubu throws coins, tokens, forms, pamphlets, lottery tickets, and small pieces of official-looking paper into the crowd.

Père Ubu
Promise that you'll pay the taxes.

The Crowd
Yes, we will!

Père Ubu
Promise that you'll pay the taxes.

The Crowd
Yes, we will!

Cpt. Ordura
Look, Mère Ubu, how they scramble all over each other grabbing up everything in sight.

Mère Ubu
Oh! It's horrible. Pooh! There's one with his skull split open.

Père Ubu
What a wonderful sight. Bring me more!

Cpt. Ordura
Let's get them to race each other!

Père Ubu
What a splendid idea.

The Crowd
Long Live Père Ubu! He's father to us all.

Père Ubu
I agree to everything!
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Big Sombrero (Love Theme)
Père Ubu
Bring me the shtttrr Hook. Bring me the Phynance Book. Wheel in the Privy Pig-Pinching Bin. Now bring all of the Nobles in.

The Nobles
Horrors! Help us! People and soldiers. This man is insane and grows ever bolder.

Père Ubu
What are your titles? What are your sins? I'll show you mercy if you'll jump in the bin. People want a sinner who loves to confess. Who leaps to his fate and he won't make a mess.

Mère Ubu
You are too harsh. Your ferocity vile. People want a king who rules with a smile. Tickle their ears. Sweet nothings they adore. Ubu. My vileness. Don't be a bore.

Père Ubu
Hand me my Imperial Crook. Hand over the Phynance Book. Flush out the Privy Pig-Pinching Bin. Now bring all of the Judges in.

The Judges
Horrors! Help us! People and soldiers. This man is insane and grows ever bolder.

Père Ubu
All of you Judges take heed. I've got laws to make. We must tax the dead but not let the living wait. I have plans for the weather that cannot be delayed. Into the Pig-Pincher all of you who will not be swayed.

Mère Ubu
You are too harsh. Your ferocity vile. People want a king who rules with a smile. Tickle their ears. Sweet nothings they adore. Ubu. My vileness. Don't be a bore.

Père Ubu
My sweet Pig Bucket. Make no mistake. I will not bend. I can only break.
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Bring Me The Head
Mère Ubu
Now that he's made himself king Père Ubu means to change every thing. No more justice. Finance or law. Into his belly he has gobbled them all. The great and good are sheep cowering. With one voice they cry, We won't agree to anything. That's not Père Ubu's Law. That's not Père Ubu's Law. He won't listen to me but he listens to you all.

Père Ubu
I agree to everything!

Mère Ubu
Why have you done this to me? What have you made me become? A good wife I meant to be. Take care, I counseled until I was numb. Tickle their ears saying life will be fair. He pulls on my titties. He yanks out my hair. That's not Père Ubu's fault. That's not Père Ubu's fault. He won't listen to me but he listens to you all.

Père Ubu
I'll agree to anything!

Mère Ubu
I'm a victim of fate that's true. He beats on me. Cheats on me. Makes me wear shoes. You people sneer and show me no pity. He makes me wear shoes and and makes me feel shitty. My mercy is such I do not complain. I bear it with grace. All your vile thankless pain. That's not Père Ubu's flaw. That's not Père Ubu's flaw. He won't listen to me but he listens to you all.

Père Ubu
I agree to every thing.

Mère Ubu
Here we are and here we must be. At the bottom of a pit that's called Eternity. How you got here may seem too mysterious. His rapacity, I agree, can be far too tedious. He's no gourmet. Has no taste for duplicity. If only he would listen to me. That's not Père Ubu's Law. That's not Père Ubu's Law. He won't listen to me but he listens to you all.

Père Ubu
I agree to everything!

Mère Ubu
Now that he's made himself king Père Ubu means to change every thing. No more justice. Finance or law. Into his fat belly he has gobbled them all.
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Road To Reason
Père Ubu
The session's open. Come to order. Please. Stay calm and try to listen properly. You will be amazed and be confounded too. So listen close as I explain it to you. First. We'll do the financial stuff and then we're gonna run around and sniff the finest flying weasel snuff. I'll describe a system I invented to get good weather and be contented. I'll exorcize the rain. Is that plain?

Phynancial Advisers
What a good idea, Mr. Ubu, sir!

Mère Ubu
You drunken boob! Your brain is an incoherent blur.

Père Ubu
Careful! Lady Merdre. It's a wonderful place to be. Here in the midst of my very own history. People will say in years to come, We weren't worthy. We were too dumb.

Mère Ubu
Can't you see that the people want sweet talk and duplicity?!

Père Ubu
Here we are and here we must stay. On the road to reason and sanité.

Père Ubu
It's your fault if we are so dumb. Madame Shtttrr Hook! You let your mouth run and run. I have ears with which to speak and you have a mouth with which to hear. Oh! I think that's a mistake. Belly of Ubu! Horns of my gibolets! I will return to the finance deterium lest I do forget.

Père Ubu
As we were saying. The phynances are going passerbly well. A considerable number of dogs wearing wool socks prowl the streets every morning. The Grocery Police and Piggy-Bank detectives are doing fine work. Everywhere you look you can see burnt-out houses and people bent double under the weight of phynance. Well! They depend on me to make our lives better. But the marriage tax has only produced 11 cents. Even though I button-hole people everywhere to force them to marry.

Phynancial Advisers
What a good idea, Mr. Ubu, sir!

Mère Ubu
You drunken boob! Your brain is an incoherent blur.

Père Ubu
Careful! Lady Merdre. It's a wonderful place to be. Here in the midst of my very own history. People will say in years to come, We weren't worthy. We were too dumb.

Mère Ubu
Can't you see that people want sweet talk and duplicity?!

Both
Here we are and here we must stay. On the road to reason and sanité.
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Slowly I Turn
Père Ubu
Shove it above it and love it. We're all bound to die. Here with me so tired! Woe is the state of the phynance that can't afford the carriage perchance to ride. Afraid to demolish this old nag of a mount I've come the whole way on foot. But when we head back. By means of our knack in phynance and physic. We'll build a glider big enough to carry armies and a piggin' trough. The royal piggin' trough.

The Polish Army
Long live Ubu Roi! Prince of Poland. And his slutty squaw. Ting ting tating ting. Long live Ubu Rex! Prince of Puke and his Shtttrr Hook. Ting ting tating ting. Ting ting tating ting.

Père Ubu
Russians are on the plain. That's plain but here I'm in a fine spot. I need a way out. Prime your guns, boys, with phynance and shtttrr. Physic and spitter. But knock 'em on the brain. It's cheaper in the main. And then we'll run as if they try to do the same thing to us. By "us" I mean me not you. But here it's time for lunch! I'll thank you all a bunch. Now sing that song I love along with so much just to munch!

The Polish Army
Long live Ubu Roi! Prince of Poland. And his slutty squaw. Ting ting tating ting. Long live Ubu Rex! Hook of Shtttrr and his sweaty keks. Ting ting tating ting. Ting ting tating ting.

Père Ubu
Gentlemen! Let's get ourselves set for battle. We are going to stay on the hill. Let us not be so stupid as to go down there. I will plant myself in the middle like a living citadel. You others will revolve around me. I must recommend that you stick as many bullets in the rifles as they will hold. Eight bullets can kill eight Russians and that's eight less will be after me. We'll put the infantry at the bottom of the hill to take the brunt of the Russians and kill them a little. The cavalry behind and ready to jump into the fray. While the artillery will ring this windmill you see here and bombard the whole pile of you. As for ourselves we will take a stand inside the windmill and shoot with the phynance pistol out the window. Thus we will carry the day. And we must be clear on this point. By "we" I mean me.

The Polish Army
Long live Ubu Roi! King of Poland. And his slutty squaw. Ting ting tating ting. Long live Ubu Rex! Hook of Shtttrr and his sweaty keks. Ting ting tating ting. Long live Ubu Roi! Prince of Poland. And his slutty squaw. Ting ting tating ting. Long live Ubu Rex! Prince of Puke and his Shtttrr Hook. Ting ting tating ting. Ting ting tating ting.
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Watching The Pigeons
Père Ubu
Oh majestic Ubu me. Kill the czar for victory. His mood is black. He's not too proud to kick my shins from behind his crowd. Let me catch you y'drunken lout And you with a gun that just won't spout. Is that so? Well! We'll see. I'll teach you to cock a snoot at me. Forward! Forward! Give it a push. Into the ditch. Over the bush. Splatter brains! Fry his rind. Forward men! I lead from behind.
Puncture. Hole and funeralize. Perforate. Bury. Cover him in flies. Pardon me sir I did not see your face in the midst of my bootery. It's not my aim to inconvenience thee.

Père Ubu
I dare not look! Only surmise. At my hands he shoulda demised. Pinch his nose. He'll turn blue. Shtttrr Hook does what it will do. Beat him. Cheat him. Tug at him. Flail. Valiant steed! Show him your tail. Courage bold. Consummate skill. Takes me to a safe part of the hill. Stay calm. Run for your lives! The Czar is spreading vicious lies.
Puncture. Hole and funeralize. Perforate. Bury. Cover him in flies. Pardon me sir I did not see your face in the midst of my bootery. It's not my aim to inconvenience thee.

Père Ubu
Men of Poland charge!

The Polish Army
I think he means retreat.

Père Ubu
The Victory is ours!

The Polish Army
I think he means defeat.

Père Ubu
Puncture. Hole and funeralize. Perforate. Bury. Cover him in flies. Pardon me sir I did not see your face in the midst of my bootery. It's not my aim to inconvenience thee.

Père Ubu
Men of Poland charge!

The Polish Army
I think he means retreat.

Père Ubu
The Victory is ours!

The Polish Army
I think he means defeat.
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.



The Story So Far
Mère Ubu
I must be losing my mind. I think I see Mr. Ubu sleeping next to me. I'll play it cool. "Well, my fat fellow, did you sleep well?"

Père Ubu
Terrible. That bear was damn tough. In the battle of the Roughs and the Toughs the Roughs have completely devoured the Toughs as you will see.

Mère Ubu
Who's he think he's talking to? I'll take advantage of the man's delirium and pretend to be a supernatural agent.

Père Ubu
I hear a voice! Am I mad or has Unjust Retribution caught me?

Mère Ubu
Yes Mr Ubu! There is indeed a Voice. The trumpet of the Archangel at the end of time would sound no different.

Père Ubu
Ah! Come off it.

Mère Ubu
Silence! Damn it!

Père Ubu
Hey! Angels don't swear.

Mère Ubu
Are you married, Mr Ubu?

Père Ubu
Yes! To a horror. She has claws everywhere. It's impossible to know which way to get at her.

Mère Ubu
You must get at her by gentleness. Sire Ubu. And you will soon find that she is at least the equal of the Venus of Samothrace.

Père Ubu
Yes! She does have a salmon face.

Mère Ubu
(I must hurry! The sun is rising.) You are not listening to me! Your wife is adorable. She hasn't a single fault.

Père Ubu
You're not listening. There's not a fault she doesn't have.

Mère Ubu
Silence! She is not unfaithful to you.

Père Ubu
No one would have her.

Mère Ubu
She doesn't drink.

Père Ubu
Not since I hid the key to the wine cellar.

Mère Ubu
She doesn't steal your gold.

Père Ubu
Really? How strange!

Mère Ubu
She doesn't embezzle as much as a cent.

Père Ubu
No doubt the reason our noble and unfortunate Phynancial Horse went months without food and had to be dragged by the bridle across the Ukraine. Poor beast! He died with his shoes on.

Mère Ubu
Your wife is a paragon. And you are a monster. You killed Venceslas.

Père Ubu
That's not my fault. She promised me a Big Sombrero.

Mère Ubu
You promised Captain Ordura the dukedom but you had him killed.

Père Ubu
Better me to rule than him. But now it's neither one of us so it doesn't make much difference. Take his murder off my account.

Mère Ubu
You unprincipled ape!

Père Ubu
You're a flat-faced thug.

Mère Ubu
Watch your step Ubu!

Père Ubu
Oh! I forgot who I was talking to. No. I didn't say that.

Mère Ubu
There's one way to attain forgiveness.

Père Ubu
I am quite disposed to become a holy man. Or bishop. Or suchlike. If I can get my name on the calendar and a Big Sombrero is involved.

Mère Ubu
You must forgive Mère Ubu for snitching a very small and insignificant sum of money.

Père Ubu
I shall pardon her after she's had a good beating and resurrected my Phynancial Horse.

Mère Ubu
(He's potty about that horse.) Oh no! The sun has risen. Shtttrr!

Père Ubu
You're swearing again. By my green candle! The scales have fallen from my eyes. It's Mère Ubu her fat self!

Mère Ubu
No it's not!

Père Ubu
You pirate hooker!

Mère Ubu
I'm going to excommunicate you!

Père Ubu
I can see that it's you Lady Gross Boobs! What the hell are you doing here?

Mère Ubu
Buggerlas and his zanies chased me away.

Père Ubu
The Russians chased me away.

Mère Ubu
Tell me about your campaign Père Ubu.

Père Ubu
In spite of my incontestable gallantry everybody beat up on me.

Mère Ubu
Even the Poles?

Père Ubu
They screamed, Long live Buggerlas. Then they killed my Phynancial Ass.

Mère Ubu
Yes. Yes. I couldn't care less. You know they killed Frigadair Crotch?

Père Ubu
Yes. Yes. I couldn't care less. You know they killed my general?

Mère Ubu
Yes. Yes. I couldn't care less. You know they...

Père Ubu
What of the Phynance?

Mère Ubu
It is lost.

Père Ubu
Ho! Ho! Ho! Mère Ubu, you are a card! But now you must suffer the ultimate torture. Kneel before me. Twisting of the nose. Pulling out the hair. Penetration of the little wooden stick. Extraction of the brain through the fingernails. Not to mention the opening of the bladdereen. How does that grab you honeykins?

Mère Ubu
Mercy Mr Ubu!
Writers: Moliné - Mehlman - Temple - Thomas - Wheeler
©2009 Ubu Projex, administered by Bug Music (North America).
©2009 Cooking Vinyl Music (ROW).
Lyrics by David Thomas.

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