lirik lagu gypsy rose lee - psychology of a strip-tease dancer
[introduction, spoken]
and now, the queen of them all ~ miss gypsy rose lee!
[verse]
have you the faintest idea about the private thoughts of a strip~teaser?
well the things that go on in a strip~teaser’s mind
would give you no end of surprise
but if you’re psychologically inclined
there’s more to see than meets the eyes
for an example:
when i lower my gown a fraction
and expose a patch of shoulder
i’m no interested in your reaction
i’m not even feeling colder
i’m thinking of a landscape by van gogh
or the apples of cézanne
or the charm i found in reading
lady windermere’s fan
when i lower the other side
and the boys in the balcony start to shout and whistle
i’m oblivious ~ i just flip my hip and get on with it
as we say in french, “sois chic, sois gentil”
in what’s left of my private life
vulgarity is taboo
while i shake my behind
i’m improving my mind
by thinking of sartres, or camus ~ in the original
regardless of what the world my think
i’m not an exhibitionist
i’m a healthy, ambitious girl
who just happens to be ambidextrous
if it’s chic, i’ll try it ~ if it isn’t fattening
when i drop both shoulder straps
and give the boys a glimpse of my back
i’m thinking of adding to my stamp collection
there’s a rare perforation i lack
but there’s the music, and although it’s my cue
i can’t help thinking of all the things i really have to do:
cable regrets to elsa maxwell
forget~me~nots to edith sitwell
call mainbocher about my fitting
match the wool for mother’s knitting
ask maximilian my furrier to bring
a muted mink lining for next winter’s g~string
oh yes and at noon i’m laying a cornerstone
but the maestro’s giving me my cue
there’s only one thing left to do ~ so i do it!
when i raise my skirts with slyness and dexterity
i’m mentally computing just how much i’ll give to charity
i must remember to oil that zipper!
and though my thighs i have revealed
and just a bit of me remains concealed
i’m thinking of the life of duse
or the third chapter of the rise and fall of the roman empire
when i drop my blouse
i’m thinking of my country house
i call it “naked acres”
you must drop in ~ for tiffin
i ignore those men whose mind’s are obscene ~ quel dommage
they leave me apathetic
i prefer the more aesthetic
things like dramas by rossini
and then, i take the last thing off
and stand there shyly with nothing on at all
clutching an old velvet drop
and looking demurely at every man
do you believe for one moment, that i’m thinking of s~x?
well i certainly am!
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