I Whip Cheez I wrote the words to Bolero. But there aren't any words to Bolero. I wrote the book to Beethoven's ninth Symphony. I tried to read it to him, but he would not listen to me. I Whip Cheez, for a living. I work the grave yard shift. I'm well known for my thrift. I Whip the Cheez that makes the Penguins fly. I Whip the Cheez that made the Salesman die. I milk the chickens every morning. I cut my toenails when I hear snoring. I just invented the electric tongue. I tried to patent it, the said it was brown and sounds like a bell. I Whip Cheez for a living. The hours aren't so great. But I don't have to grate. I never contemplate the good times that I missed. Instead I calibrate, how much cheez to whip. Two-Guitar Solo (how'd he do that?) I know a man who plays the saxophone. In a band with two drummers and a telephone. Dawn breaks every morning at half past six. They woke me up today and said I had to get it fixed. I whip cheez for a living. Not one for sentiments. 'Cause my life work ferments. I'm not the type to get tears in my eyes. The salesman's nemesis, homogenized. "Now is the part in the dance where we do the Cheez Whipping Dance... Censorship is un-American... Don't eat Chex without the milk."