Listen, mister, you're a guest at the Night Owl Club so you can sit here all night long, tip me after every song, buy me scotch till the final gong but none of that will help.
You'll still go home alone unless some other lady has a need to make her rent and sees the opportunity you offer. It won't be me; I can't be bothered. I need a different kind of man, a man who'll hug me tighter
than my panties can, a big ole man whose big ole tongue will be my tampon when I'm dry. Get off that stool and look in the mirror behind those whiskey bottles
so you can see what I see. Then we'll both know why you can never be that man, not even for an hour. I'm no Billie Holiday, but even with my glasses off, I can see that you ain't no John Wayne.