Chicago's where Capone made guys sleep with the fishes.

It's also the home of this band called The Dishes.

A fabulous foursome with the rock sound that's crude,

The team is three ladies, and a drum-playin' dude.

Jamming like Boss Hog on old tracks like "Strawberry",

They come in full-speed to bust your girl-rock cherry.

Pancake-yam riffs and lip-curling vocals abound,

With enough sonic feedback to deafen a hound.

They're gaining territory in an auditory war,

With more spunk in their trunk than that Mary Tyler Moore.

As for individual songs, there are ten on the list.

I could describe every one, but instead I'll say this:

The new album, 3, lays it out with no jive,

Letting you know The Dishes would rock your shit live!

You'd limp home from the concert, give a contented sigh,

Dripping like Richard Simmons' buttery, bacon-bronzed thigh.

'Cause these kids are like Balboa, serving double G-clef knockouts,

And like so many before them, they're here to rock out with their cocks out.

Er,.. you know what I mean.

VISIT THE DISHES HERE.