| Lyrics: | Feed me. Feed me. Feed me.
Feed me, Seymour. Feed me all night long.
(That's right, boy!
You can do it!)
Feed me, Seymour. Feed me all night long. (Ha, ha, ha, ha ha.)
'Cause if
you feed me, Seymour, I can grow up big and strong.
Would you like a Cadillac
car?
Or a guest shot on Jack Paar?
How about a date with Hedy Lamarr?
You gonna git
it. (If you want it, baby.)
How would you like to be a big wheel,
dinin' out for
every meal?
I'm the plant to make it all real.
You gonna git it.
Hey, I'm your
genie, I'm your friend. I'm your willing slave.
Take a chance. Feed me, eh? You know what
kinda eats,
what kinda red hot treats, what kinda sticky licky sweets I crave.
Come
on, Seymour, don't be a putz.
Trust me and your life will surely rival King Tut's.
Show a
little initiative, boy. Work up some guts
and you'll git it.
(I don't know. I
don't know.
I have so, so many strong reservations.
Should I go and perform
mutilations?)
Think about a room at the Ritz,
wrapped in velvet, covered in
glitz.
A little nookie gonna clean up those zits
and you'll git it.
(Gee, I'd
like a Harley machine,
toolin' around like I was James Dean,
makin' all the guys on the
corner turn green.)
So go git it.
If you want to be profound, if you really got to
justify,
take a whiff and look around. A lot of folks deserve to die.
Stupid woman.
Christ, what a friggin' scatterbrain.
I'm sorry, doctor.
Falls off the
motorcycle.
If you want a rationale, it isn't very hard to see, no, no, no.
Stop and
think it over, pal. The guy sure looks like plant foot to me.
The guy sure looks like plant
food to me.
The guy sure looks like plant food to me.
He's so nasty, treatin' her
rough,
smackin' her around and always talkin' so tough.
(You need blood and he's got more
than enough.)
I need blood and he's got more than enough.
I/(You) need blood and he's got
more than enough.
So go git it |
