Let's Get Pretentious Songtext
von Pete Townshend

Are you Harold Pinter?
Milk hard, I think
Let′s get pretentious, put on an act
Let's be portentous and embroider facts
That′s extraordinary, residents being shot in the music

Let's get pretentious, put on an act
Let's be portentous and embroider facts
Exaggerate it, dress up the plan
It′s overrated, let the critics be damned
Let′s get some Suez, put on some airs
Let's drink a lose and sit bored on the stairs
Let′s get excited when we say hello
Let's be delighted though it′s nobody we know

I don't know much, but I know what I like
I don′t know much, so-and-so's in touch in touch
I don't know much, but I know what I like
I don′t know much, mm-mm


Let′s find a market with sparkling wit
Let's make a target of anyone with a hit
Let′s keep some secrets, let's make them up
Put them together then break them up

I don′t know much, but I know what I like
I don't know much, so-and-so′s in touch in touch
I don't know much, but I know what I like
I don't know much

Oh God, this place is crawling with journalists
I hate the fucking lot of them
Oh, Ray, you gotta play the game, eh?
I mean, you gotta bleed
You know what I think
If you got beauty or talent
You′re gonna get caught up in some kind of prostitution
Well, it′s inevitable
That's all it was, my life on the road, prostitution
Mm, we′re all cunts, aren't we all?
Get me another drink
As you know, Ray, I find all this fascinating
Pity Ruth Street is missing it
Oh, she′ll get it, she'll get it all right, but my way
Don′t you worry, my story'll get told


I don't know much, but I know what I like
I don′t know much, now so-and-so′s in touch in touch
I don't know much, but I know what I like
I don′t know much

Let's get pretentious, put on an act
Let′s be portentous and embroider facts
Exaggerate it, dress up the plan
It's overrated, let the critics be damned

Ruth, wow, you look wonderful in black leather
This isn′t leather, you twerp, it's rubber
Hey, watch, if you call me a twerp again
I might have to get the bicycle pump out
Talking of flat tires, how's Ray?
Can′t get anything out of him
He must have some dough stashed away
And he′s up to something
But fuck knows what it is
You know, he still reads his fan mail
But he doesn't reply to it anymore
I don′t know what'll fire him up
I bet I could fire him up
Yeah?
Yeah, I could do it
You say he still reads his fan mail?
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Oh, if you can do something
We could shift millions, you know that?
And I′ll cut you in
I would
I might have an idea
But it'd be dangerous
Especially for Ray