Come to Berlin Country! Come to where the City Tax is!
The city of Berlin loves youz tourists, honest it does. Sort of. In fact, the local yokel politicians here love youz guys so much that they feel the pressing need to show you just how much that is. And it’s a full 15 percent more than any of you out there were expecting. And that’s 15 percent more for getting absolutely nothing in return!
That’s right. Starting next month you will be permitted to pay an additional 15 percent City Tax on top of your hotel room bill here, at no extra cost to them and absolutely not free of charge for you! Now that’s what I call big City Tax hospitality!
Sam with the showing scalp flat top,
Particular about the point it made.
Why, when I was knee-high to a grasshopper,
This black juice came out on a hard shelled chin.
And they called that ‘tobacco juice’.
I used to fiddle with my back feet music for a black onyx.
My entire room absorbed every echo.
The music was… thud like.
The music was… thud like.
I usually played such things as rough-neck and thug.
Opaque melodies that would bug most people.
Music from the other side of the fence.
A black swan figurine lay on all color lily pads.
On a little conglomeration table of pressed black felt.
With same color shadows, in seamed knobbed knees, and what-nots.
The long hallway rolled out into oddball odd.
Beside the fly-pecked black doorway,
That looked closed on the tar-lattice street.
Up a wrought iron fire escape.
Rolled out a tiny wooden platform with dark, hard, dark rubber wheels.
Roll, skreek! Roll, skreek! Roll, skreek!
Sam with the showing scalp flat top,
Particular about the point it made.
Sam was a BASKET CASE!
A hardened dark ivory clip held… saleable everyday pencils.
I wish I had a pair ‘o bongos!
Bongo Fury!
Bongo Fury!
Oowwwww! Bongo Fury!
(Boogie!)
Bongo Fury!
Bongo Fury…
Bongo Fury…
Observing Hermann 
My mind is boggled. Citing Captain Beefheart is not for the faint of heart. In fact it’s all very neo-something-or-other.
Well Joe, as Captain Beefheart once said…
Sam with the showing scalp flat top,
Particular about the point it made.
Why, when I was knee-high to a grasshopper,
This black juice came out on a hard shelled chin.
And they called that ‘tobacco juice’.
I used to fiddle with my back feet music for a black onyx.
My entire room absorbed every echo.
The music was… thud like.
The music was… thud like.
I usually played such things as rough-neck and thug.
Opaque melodies that would bug most people.
Music from the other side of the fence.
A black swan figurine lay on all color lily pads.
On a little conglomeration table of pressed black felt.
With same color shadows, in seamed knobbed knees, and what-nots.
The long hallway rolled out into oddball odd.
Beside the fly-pecked black doorway,
That looked closed on the tar-lattice street.
Up a wrought iron fire escape.
Rolled out a tiny wooden platform with dark, hard, dark rubber wheels.
Roll, skreek! Roll, skreek! Roll, skreek!
Sam with the showing scalp flat top,
Particular about the point it made.
Sam was a BASKET CASE!
A hardened dark ivory clip held… saleable everyday pencils.
I wish I had a pair ‘o bongos!
Bongo Fury!
Bongo Fury!
Oowwwww! Bongo Fury!
(Boogie!)
Bongo Fury!
Bongo Fury…
Bongo Fury…
Then there’s always Advance Romance:
Wow. To which one can only add:
Moby
Grape