WOMAN IN CLUB: Noel Coward, I think. "Let's get pretentious, put on an act. Let's get portentous and embroider the facts." (laughs)
MAN MUMBLING: A fabulous extraordinary hit, especially these people shouting music
Let's get pretentious
Put on an act
Let's be portentous
Embroider fact
Exaggerate it
Dress up the bland
Let's overrate it
Let the critics be damned
Let's get sensuous
Put on some airs
Let's drink Kailuas
And sit bored on the stairs
Let's get excited
When we say hello
Let's be delighted
Though it's nobody we know
I don't know much
But I know what I like
I don't know much
But so and so said such and such
I don't know much
But I know what I like
I don't know much
Let's find a market
For sparkling wit
Let's make a target
Of anyone with a hit
Let's keep some secrets
Let's make them up
Put them together
Then break them up
I don't know much
But I know what I like
I don't know much
But so and so said such and such
I don't know much
But I know what I like
I don't know much
RAY: Oh God, this place is crawling with journalists. I hate the fucking lot of 'em.
RASTUS: Oh Ray, you've got to play the game, eh? I mean, you've got to believe.
RAY: You know what I think?
RASTUS: What?
RAY: If you've got beauty or talent you're going get caught up in some kind of prostitution. Well, it's inevitable. That's all it was, my life on the road: prostitution. We're all cunts after all. Get me another drink.
RASTUS: As you know Ray, I find all this fascinating. Pity Ruth Streeting's missin' it.
RAY: Oh, she'll get it, she'll get it, all right. But my way. Don't you worry. My story'll get told.
(Guitar Solo)
I don't know much
But I know what I like
I don't know much
Now so and so said such and such
I don't know much
But I know what I like
I don't know much
Let's get pretentious
Put on an act
Let's be portentous
Embroider fact
Exaggerate it
Dress up the bland
Let's overrate it
Let the critics be damned
In another part of the same club
RASTUS: Ruth, wow. Hey, you look wonderful in black leather.
RUTH: It's not leather you twerp, it's rubber.
RASTUS: Hey watch it, you call me a "twerp" again and I might have to get me bicycle pump out.
RUTH: Talking of flat tires, how's Ray?
RASTUS: I can't get anything out of him. He must have some dough stashed away, and he's up to something, but fuck knows what it is. You know, he still reads his fan mail, but he doesn't reply to it anymore. I don't know what'll fire him up.
RUTH: Bet I could fire him up.
RASTUS: Yeah?
RUTH: Yeah, I could do it. You say he still reads his fan mail?
RASTUS: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh, if you can do something Ruth, we could shift millions, you know that? And I'll cut you in. I would.
RUTH: I might have an idea. But it'd be dangerous ... especially for Ray.