CORRECT LYRICS
Lyrics : Opening Doors
How's it going?
Good. You?
Fair.
Yeah, tell me.
Chinese laundry.
Hi.
Mary.
Say hello.
I think I got a job.
Where?
True Romances
Posing?
Thank you. Writing captions.
What about the book?
What about the book?
Nothing, are you working on the book?
Yes...
Good.
No...
Mary—
Right, I know, yes, me and Balzac...
I finished the one-act
I got an audition—
I started the story
Rehearsal pianist
So where are we eating?
I'm moving to Playboy
The publisher called me
I'm doing a rewrite
My parents are coming
I saw My Fair Lady
I rewrote the rewrite
I sort of еnjoyed it
I threw out the story
I'm meeting an agеnt
We'll all get together on Sunday
We're opening doors
Singing, "Here we are!"
We're filling up days on a dime
That faraway shore's
Looking not too far
We're following every star—
There's not enough time!
I called the producer
I sent off the one-act
I started the story
He said to come see him
I dropped out of college
I met this musician
I'm playing a nightclub
They're doing my one-act!
I'm working for Redbook
I rewrote the ballad
I finished the story
We started rehearsals
I threw out the story
And then the musician
I'm moving to Popular Science
We're opening doors
Singing, "Look who's here!"
Beginning to sail on a dime
That faraway shore's
Getting very near!
We haven't a thing to fear—
We haven't got time!
How's it coming?
Good. You?
Done!
One minute...
Hamburg Heaven.
Hi.
Mary.
Say hello.
I got another job.
Where?
"Chic."
What's that?
A brand-new concept:
Pop-up pictures.
What about the book?
What about the book?
Did you give the publisher the book?
Yes...
Good.
No...
Mary—
Look, I never—
Finished!
Let me call you back.
Right.
This is just a draft.
Right.
Probably it stinks.
Right.
Haven't had the time to do a polish—
Will you sing!
Right.
(sung)
Who wants to live in New York?
Who wants the worry, the noise, the dirt, the heat?
Who wants the garbage cans clanging in the street?
Suddenly I do!
They're always poppin' their cork—
(spoken)
I'll fix that line—
(sung)
The cops, the cabbies, the salesgirls up at Saks
You gotta have a real taste for maniacs—
Suddenly I do!
That's great! That's swell!
The other stuff as well
It isn't every day
I hear a score this strong
But fellas, if I may
There's only one thing wrong:
There's not a tune you can hum
There's not a tune you go bum-bum-bum-di-dum—
You need a tune to go bum-bum-bum-di-dum—
Give me a melody!
Why can't you throw 'em a crumb?
What's wrong with letting 'em tap their toes a bit?
I'll let you know when Stravinsky has a hit—
Give me some melody!
Oh sure, I know
It's not that kind of show
But can't you have a score
That's sort of in between?
Look, play a little more
I'll show you what I mean...
Who wants to live in New York?
I always hated the dirt, the heat, the noise
But ever since I met you, I—
Listen, boys
Maybe it's me
But that's just not a
Hum-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mable melody!
Write more, work hard—
Leave your name with the girl
Less avant-garde—
Leave your name with the girl
Just write a plain old melodee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee...
Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee...
They're stopping rehearsals
They ran out of money...
We lasted one issue
My book was rejected
The nightclub was raided
I have to start coaching
My parents are coming
They screwed up the laundry
My wallet was stolen
I saw the musician
We're being evicted
I'm having a breakdown
We'll all get together on Sunday
They're slamming the doors
Singing, "Go away!"
It's less of a sail than a climb
That faraway shore's
Farther every day
We're learning to ricochet
We still have a lot to say...
You know what we'll do?
What?
We'll do a revue
What?
What?
We'll do a revue of our own!
What?
Where?
Why?
When?
Not just songs, but stories, scenes, piano pieces, mime—
Yeah!
"Frankly Frank!"
A showcase of our own!
Where?
The club's reopening.
We'll write a lot of new stuff—
Rewrite old stuff—
What about the girl?
What about the girl?
Only that we're gonna need a girl.
Well, Mary—
Thanks, I don't perform except at dinner.
Who wants to live in New York?
Who wants the worry, the noise, the dirt, the heat
Who wants the garbage cans clanging in the street—
Thank you, but we're looking for someone with more experience.
They're always popping their cork—
Up a tone.
The cops, the cabbies, the salesgirls up at Saks—
Up a tone.
You gotta have a real taste for maniacs—
Thank you. You're hired.
I'm Beth
I'm Frank
I really thought I stank
I'm Mary
Charley
By the way
I'm told we open Saturday
What?!
You're not serious!
Nobody's ready!
Apparently someone cancelled a booking.
The songs aren't finished
And what about costumes?
And how do I learn all these numbers?
I'll bring you the copies of everything later this evening
Okay, but I'll have to have all of the music
And Saturday I've got to sing at a wedding
Oh God, is there dancing, 'cause I'm not a dancer
Not to mention I still haven't finished the
Synanon song or the Kennedy number
You don't have to, we'll segue the
End of it into the dance we cut out...
And what'll we do about getting publicity
Run around town putting stickers on windows
And have we decided or not on the restaurant sketch?
I need two or three days to replace it...
No, we'll use it but not with the long introduction...
We'll worry about it on Sunday!
We're opening doors
Singing, "Here we are!"
We're filling up days on a dime
That faraway shore's looking not too far
We're following every star—
There's not enough time!
We're banging on doors
Shouting, "Here again!"
We're risking it all on a dime
That faraway shore's looking near again
The only thing left is when
We know we should count to ten—
We haven't got time!
We haven't got time!
Good. You?
Fair.
Yeah, tell me.
Chinese laundry.
Hi.
Mary.
Say hello.
I think I got a job.
Where?
True Romances
Posing?
Thank you. Writing captions.
What about the book?
What about the book?
Nothing, are you working on the book?
Yes...
Good.
No...
Mary—
Right, I know, yes, me and Balzac...
I finished the one-act
I got an audition—
I started the story
Rehearsal pianist
So where are we eating?
I'm moving to Playboy
The publisher called me
I'm doing a rewrite
My parents are coming
I saw My Fair Lady
I rewrote the rewrite
I sort of еnjoyed it
I threw out the story
I'm meeting an agеnt
We'll all get together on Sunday
We're opening doors
Singing, "Here we are!"
We're filling up days on a dime
That faraway shore's
Looking not too far
We're following every star—
There's not enough time!
I called the producer
I sent off the one-act
I started the story
He said to come see him
I dropped out of college
I met this musician
I'm playing a nightclub
They're doing my one-act!
I'm working for Redbook
I rewrote the ballad
I finished the story
We started rehearsals
I threw out the story
And then the musician
I'm moving to Popular Science
We're opening doors
Singing, "Look who's here!"
Beginning to sail on a dime
That faraway shore's
Getting very near!
We haven't a thing to fear—
We haven't got time!
How's it coming?
Good. You?
Done!
One minute...
Hamburg Heaven.
Hi.
Mary.
Say hello.
I got another job.
Where?
"Chic."
What's that?
A brand-new concept:
Pop-up pictures.
What about the book?
What about the book?
Did you give the publisher the book?
Yes...
Good.
No...
Mary—
Look, I never—
Finished!
Let me call you back.
Right.
This is just a draft.
Right.
Probably it stinks.
Right.
Haven't had the time to do a polish—
Will you sing!
Right.
(sung)
Who wants to live in New York?
Who wants the worry, the noise, the dirt, the heat?
Who wants the garbage cans clanging in the street?
Suddenly I do!
They're always poppin' their cork—
(spoken)
I'll fix that line—
(sung)
The cops, the cabbies, the salesgirls up at Saks
You gotta have a real taste for maniacs—
Suddenly I do!
That's great! That's swell!
The other stuff as well
It isn't every day
I hear a score this strong
But fellas, if I may
There's only one thing wrong:
There's not a tune you can hum
There's not a tune you go bum-bum-bum-di-dum—
You need a tune to go bum-bum-bum-di-dum—
Give me a melody!
Why can't you throw 'em a crumb?
What's wrong with letting 'em tap their toes a bit?
I'll let you know when Stravinsky has a hit—
Give me some melody!
Oh sure, I know
It's not that kind of show
But can't you have a score
That's sort of in between?
Look, play a little more
I'll show you what I mean...
Who wants to live in New York?
I always hated the dirt, the heat, the noise
But ever since I met you, I—
Listen, boys
Maybe it's me
But that's just not a
Hum-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mable melody!
Write more, work hard—
Leave your name with the girl
Less avant-garde—
Leave your name with the girl
Just write a plain old melodee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee...
Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee...
They're stopping rehearsals
They ran out of money...
We lasted one issue
My book was rejected
The nightclub was raided
I have to start coaching
My parents are coming
They screwed up the laundry
My wallet was stolen
I saw the musician
We're being evicted
I'm having a breakdown
We'll all get together on Sunday
They're slamming the doors
Singing, "Go away!"
It's less of a sail than a climb
That faraway shore's
Farther every day
We're learning to ricochet
We still have a lot to say...
You know what we'll do?
What?
We'll do a revue
What?
What?
We'll do a revue of our own!
What?
Where?
Why?
When?
Not just songs, but stories, scenes, piano pieces, mime—
Yeah!
"Frankly Frank!"
A showcase of our own!
Where?
The club's reopening.
We'll write a lot of new stuff—
Rewrite old stuff—
What about the girl?
What about the girl?
Only that we're gonna need a girl.
Well, Mary—
Thanks, I don't perform except at dinner.
Who wants to live in New York?
Who wants the worry, the noise, the dirt, the heat
Who wants the garbage cans clanging in the street—
Thank you, but we're looking for someone with more experience.
They're always popping their cork—
Up a tone.
The cops, the cabbies, the salesgirls up at Saks—
Up a tone.
You gotta have a real taste for maniacs—
Thank you. You're hired.
I'm Beth
I'm Frank
I really thought I stank
I'm Mary
Charley
By the way
I'm told we open Saturday
What?!
You're not serious!
Nobody's ready!
Apparently someone cancelled a booking.
The songs aren't finished
And what about costumes?
And how do I learn all these numbers?
I'll bring you the copies of everything later this evening
Okay, but I'll have to have all of the music
And Saturday I've got to sing at a wedding
Oh God, is there dancing, 'cause I'm not a dancer
Not to mention I still haven't finished the
Synanon song or the Kennedy number
You don't have to, we'll segue the
End of it into the dance we cut out...
And what'll we do about getting publicity
Run around town putting stickers on windows
And have we decided or not on the restaurant sketch?
I need two or three days to replace it...
No, we'll use it but not with the long introduction...
We'll worry about it on Sunday!
We're opening doors
Singing, "Here we are!"
We're filling up days on a dime
That faraway shore's looking not too far
We're following every star—
There's not enough time!
We're banging on doors
Shouting, "Here again!"
We're risking it all on a dime
That faraway shore's looking near again
The only thing left is when
We know we should count to ten—
We haven't got time!
We haven't got time!
