I get tired of singing to the guys I beat up in motion pictures.

Any audience, as a rule, goes for a fast number.

Make me feel at home, if you really care, scratch my back and run your pretty fingers through my hair.

You've got to follow that dream, wherever that dream may lead.

I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to.

Those people in New York are not gonna change me none.

Then came Act II, you seemed to change and acted strange, and why I'll never know.