which I watched yesterday but it appears that pirated Fraps doesn't get along with pirated PowerDVD - instead of high resolution Blu-Ray screenshots, which were to embellish my subjective report, I got black rectangles of despair. Since I only discovered this after all the screenshots were already "made", I give you the full lyrics to the song Private Dancer by Tina Turner:
[To be read solemnly, as a poem, on a solitary afternoon, with a glass of vintage regret and a plate full of disappointment.]
All the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names
You don't think of them as human
You don't think of them at all
You keep your mind on the money
Keeping your eyes on the wall
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
And any old music will do
[Your shades are drawn but you can hear children playing outside in the sun. You should have bought those soundproof windows. The kids are ruining your mood and you start reciting the poem even louder.]
I wanna make a million dollarsI wanna live out by the seaHave a husband and some childrenYeah, I guess I want a family
All the men come in these placesAnd the men are all the sameYou don't look at their facesAnd you don't ask their names
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyI'll do what you want me to doI'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyAnd any old music will do
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyI'll do what you want me to doJust a private dancer, a dancer for moneyAnd any old music will do
[Here comes your favourite part, make every syllable count. Bang out the (solemn) rhythm on the table with your open palms if you have to. If you have neighbours, make sure they hear you.]
Deutsch marks or dollarsAmerican Express will do nicely, thank youLet me loosen up your collarTell me, do you wanna see me do the shimmy again?
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyI'll do what you want me to doJust a private dancer, a dancer for moneyAnd any old music will do
[Downhill from here. Your recitation grows into a barely audible whisper, though no less solemn. After you're done, be silent for a couple of moments. Take a sip from your glass. Play with the cat, if you have one.]
All the men come in these placesAnd the men are all the sameYou don't look at their facesAnd you don't ask their names
You don't think of them as humanNo, you don't think of them at allYou keep your mind on the moneyKeeping your eyes on the wall
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyI'll do what you want me to doI'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyAnd any old music will do
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyI'll do what you want me to doI'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyAnd any old music will do
I'm your private dancer, dancer for moneyI'm your private dancer, dancer for moneyI'm your private dancer, a dancer for moneyJust a private dancer, a dancer for money.
 |
| I have no clue as to why the lyrics are in capitals, she seemed to say. |
