Lés Girls
 

Our Black-and-White Ball finale features Baby Bill Gene Kelly, Baby Amanda Juliet Prowse, and the girls performing several showstopping numbers in Cole Porter's musical extravaganza, Lés Girls.  Please enjoy the show.
 
 

Night and Day
(Please click on the note to start the music.)

Like the beat, beat, beat of the tomtom,
when the jungle shadows fall.
Like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock,
as it stands against the wall.
Like the drip, drip, drip of the raindrops,
when the summer shower is through.
So a voice within me
keeps repeating, you, you, you.

 
 

Night and day, you are the one.
Only you beneath the moon or under the sun.
Whether near to me or far,
no matter, darling, where you are,
I think of you night and day.
 

Day and night, why is it so,
that this longing for you follows wherever I go?
In the roaring traffic's boom,
in the silence of my lonely room,
I think of you night and day.

Night and day, under the hide of me,
there's an oh, such a hungry yearning
burning inside of me.
And its torment won't be through
'til you let me spend my life making love to you

day and night, night and day

 ~

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Blow, Gabriel, Blow
(Please click on the note to start the music.)

Do you hear that playing?
Yes we hear the playing,
Do you know who's playing?
No, who is that playing?

Why it's Gabriel, Gabriel playing,
Gabriel Gabriel saying,
"Will you be ready to go when I blow my horn?"
Oh Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
Go on and Blow Gabriel Blow
 

I've been a sinner, I've been a scamp,
But now I'm willin' to trim my lamp,
So Blow, Gabriel, Blow
 

I was low, Gabriel, low,
Mighty low, Gabriel, low,
But now since I have seen the light,
I'm good by day and I'm good by night,
So blow, Gabriel, blow,

Once I was headed for hell,
Once I was headed for hell,
But when I got to Satan's door,
I heard you blowin' on your horn once more
So I said, "Satan, farewell"
 

Now your all ready to fly
Yes to fly higher and higher and higher
Cause' you got through the brimstone,
And you've been through the fire
And you purged your soul, and your heart too
So climb up the mountain top and start to
Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
 

Go on and Blow, Gabriel, Blow
I was enjoying your happy band,
That played all day in the promised land
So Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
I want to join your happy band,
To play all day in the promised land
So Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
Blow, Gabriel, Blow,
Blow, Gabriel, Blow
Blow, Gabriel, Blow
Blow, Gabriel, Blow!

   ~

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Anything Goes
(Please click on the note to start the music.)

Times have changed
And we've often rewound the clock
Since the Puritans got a shock
When they landed on Plymouth Rock.
If today
Any shock they should try to stem
'Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock,
Plymouth Rock would land on them.
 

In olden days, a glimpse of stocking
Was looked on as something shocking.
But now, God knows,
Anything goes.
Good authors too who once knew better words
Now only use four-letter words
Writing prose.
Anything goes.
 

If driving fast cars you like,
If low bars you like,
If old hymns you like,
If bare limbs you like,
If Mae West you like,
Or me undressed you like,
Why, nobody will oppose.
When ev'ry night the set that's smart is in-
Truding in nudist parties in
Studios.
Anything goes.
 

When Missus Ned McLean (God bless her)
Can get Russian reds to "yes" her,
Then I suppose
Anything goes.
When Rockefeller still can hoard en-
Ough money to let Max Gordon
Produce his shows,
Anything goes.
 
 

The world has gone mad today
 

And good's bad today,
 

And black's white today,
 

And day's night today,
And that gent today
You gave a cent today
Once had several chateaux.

When folks who still can ride in jitneys
Find out Vanderbilts and Whitneys
Lack baby clo'es,
Anything goes.

Anything goes.
 
 

And now our final number to close the Second Annual Black-and-White Ball for Beethoven says what we think of our girls and all our fans everywhere.

   ~

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You're The Top
(Please click on the note to start the music.)

At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
That I always have found it best,
Instead of getting 'em off my chest,
To let 'em rest unexpressed,
I hate parading my serenading
As I'll probably miss a bar,
But if this ditty is not so pretty
At least it'll tell you
How great you are.
 

You're the top!
You're the Coliseum.
You're the top!
You're the Louvre Museum.
You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss
You're a Bendel bonnet,
A Shakespeare's sonnet,
You're Mickey Mouse.
You're the Nile,
You're the Tower of Pisa,
You're the smile on the Mona Lisa
I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom you're the top!
 

¹

Your words poetic are not pathetic.
On the other hand, babe, you shine,
And I can feel after every line
A thrill divine
Down my spine.
Now gifted humans like Vincent Youmans
Might think that your song is bad,
But I got a notion
I'll second the motion
And this is what I'm going to add;
 

²

You're the top!
You're Mahatma Gandhi.
You're the top!
You're Napoleon Brandy.
You're the purple light
Of a summer night in Spain,
You're the National Gallery
You're Garbo's salary,
You're cellophane.
You're sublime,
You're turkey dinner,
You're the time, the time of a Derby winner
I'm a toy balloon that’s fated soon to pop
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!
 

³

You're the top!
You're an arrow collar
You're the top!
You're a Coolidge dollar,
You're the nimble tread
Of the feet of Fred Astaire,
You're an O'Neill drama,

You're Whistler's mama!

You're camembert.
 

You're a rose,
You're Inferno's Dante,

You're the nose
On the great Durante.
I'm just in a way,
As the French would say, "de trop".
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!
 

You're the top!
You're a dance in Bali.
You're the top!
You're a hot tamale.
You're an angel, you,
Simply too, too, too diveen,
You're a Boticcelli,
You're Keats,
You're Shelly!

You're Ovaltine!
You're a boom,
You're the dam at Boulder,
You're the moon,
Over Mae West's shoulder,
I'm the nominee of the G.O.P.

Or GOP!
 

But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!
 

You're the top!
You're a Waldorf salad.
You're the top!
You're a Berlin ballad.
You're the boats that glide
On the sleepy Zuider Zee,
You're an old Dutch master,
 

You're Lady Astor,
You're broccoli!
You're romance,
You're the steppes of Russia,
You're the pants, on a Roxy usher,
I'm a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop,
 

But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!