She Stopped The Show - But Then

Mad Dogs And Englishmen Go Out In The Mid-day Sun.

An Infant Prodigy Of Nine Is Shoved Upon The Stage In White. She Starts Off In A Dismal Whine About A Dark And Stormy Night, A Burglar, Whose Heart Is True, Despite His Wicked-looking Face, Who Puts The Little Child In Doom, To Save Her Mamma's Jewel Case. This May Bring Tears To Every Eye; It Does Not Set My Heart On Fire. I'd Like To Stand Serenely By And Watch That Horrid Child Expire.

Mad Dogs And Englishmen Go Out In The Mid-day Sun; The Japanese Don't Care To, The Chinese Wouldn't Dare To; Hindus And Argentines Sleep Firmly From Twelve To One, But Englishmen Detest A Siesta.

People Are Wrong When They Say Opera Is Not What It Used To Be. It Is What It Used To Be. That Is What's Wrong With It.

Everybody Worships Me, It's Nauseating.