Let's Get Pretentious

MAN IN CLUB: Are you Harold Pinter? WOMAN IN CLUB: Noel Coward, I think. "Let's get pretentious, put on an act. Let's get portentous and embroider the facts". Ha ha ha ha ha... MAN MUMBLING: A fabulous extraordinary hit, especially these people shouting music. Let's get pretentious Put on an act Let's be portentous And embroider facts 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. 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 And embroider facts Exaggerate it Dress up the bland Let's overrate it Let the critics be damned RASTUS: Ruth, wow. Hey, you look wonderful in black leather. RUTH: This isn't 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.