Lyrics The Lady's Paying - Andrew Lloyd Webber , Glenn Close

Hurry up, the birthday boy is on his way
This is a surprise celebration
I hope you've remembered everything I've said
I want to see a total transformation

What's all this?
Happy birthday, darling
Did you think we'd forgotten?
Well, I don't know
These people are from the best men's shop in town
I had them close it down for the day
Norma, now listen
I'll leave you boys to it

Happy birthday, welcome to your shopathon
What's going on?
Help yourself, it's all been taken care of
Anyone who's anyone is dressed by me
Well, golly gee
Pick out anything you'd like a pair of
You just point, I'll do the rest
I've brought nothing but the best
You're a very lucky writer, come along now, get undressed
Unless I'm much mistaken, that's a 42-inch chest

I don't understand a word you're saying
Well, all you need to know's the lady's paying
It's nice to get your just reward this time of year
Get outta here
And all my merchandise is strictly kosher
When you've thrown away all your old worn-out stuff
Hey, that's enough
Perhaps you'd like to model for my brochure

I have just the thing for you
Chalk-stripe suits in black or blue
Glen plaid trousers
Cashmere sweaters
Bathing shorts for Malibu
Here's a patent leather lace-up
It's a virtuoso shoe
And a simply marvelous coat made of vicuña
You know what you can do with your vicuña

Come on Joe, you haven't even started yet
You wanna bet?
I thought by now he'd look the height of fashion
He always takes forever making up his mind
Don't be unkind
I thought you writers knew about compassion

I love flannel on a man
This will complement his tan
We'll take two of these and four of those
I'm still your greatest fan
Very soon now we'll have stopped him looking like an also-ran
You're gonna make me sorry that I'm staying

Well, all right, I'll choose, after all, I'm paying
Evening clothes?
I want to see your most deluxe
Won't wear a tux
Of course not, dear, tuxedos are for waiters
What we need are tails, a white tie and top hat
I can't wear that
Joe, second-rate clothes are for second-raters
Norma, please
Shut up, I'm rich
Now some platinum blonde bitch

I own so many apartments
I've forgotten which is which
I don't have to go to premieres
I'm never on display
You seem to forget that I'm a writer
Who cares what you wear when you're a writer?

I care, Joe, and please don't be so mean to me
Okay, all right
You can't come to my New Year's Eve party in that filling-station shirt
I've been invited somewhere else on New Year's Eve
Where?
Artie Green, he's an old friend of mine
I can't do without you Joe, I need you
I've sent out every single invitation
Alright, Norma, I give in
Of course you do

And when they've dressed you
You'll cause a sensation

We equip the chosen few of Movie land
The latest cut
We dress every movie star and crooner
From their shiny toecaps to their hatband
Conceal your gut
You won't regret selecting the vicuña
If you need a hand to shake, if there's a girl you want to make
If there's a soul you're out to capture
Or a heart you want to break
If you want the world to love you

You'll have to learn to take
And gracefully accept the role you're playing
You will earn every cent the lady's paying
So why not have it all?
Now that didn't hurt, did it?
The lady's paying