Fred Astaire
Fred Astaire
Fred Astaire, Nanette Fabray, Jack Buchanan, India Adams & The MGM Studio Orchestra
Fred Astaire
India Adams
Fred Astaire & Jack Buchanan
Arthur Schwartz
This song with spoken narration is the occasion for an extended dance number with Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse that parodies hard-boiled detective fiction, especially the novels of Mickey Spillane.
The city was asleep. Joints were closed. The rats, the hoods, the killers were in their holes. I hate killers. My name is Rod Riley, a detective. Somewhere, in a furnished room, some guy was practicing on horn. It was a lonesome sound. Crawled on my spine
I had just finished a tough case. I was ready to hit the sack, when
(woman screams)
I could smell trouble a mile off. This poor kid was in trouble. Big trouble. Scared. Scared as a turkey in November
There was nothin' left of the guy! Nothin' at all! Except a rag and a bone and a hank of hair. The guy had been tryin' to tell me somethin', but what?
So that's the way they wanted to play it! All right! Somewhere in the city was a killer. That was bad. Bad for the killer, 'cause I shoot hard. And I hit hard
I was playin' a hunch
She came at me in sections. More curves than a scenic railway. She was bad. She was dangerous. I wouldn't trust her any farther than I could throw her. She was selling hard, but I wasn't buying
This had to be Mr. Big. Get him and you get 'em all!
Chased him from one end of Manhattan to the other
There was something about this kid that made you want to protect her
That bullet was meant for me! Maybe this was a long shot, but I've seen some funny ones pay off
I was beginning to see daylight
These mugs were smart, but they made one mistake. They got me mad
Suddenly, all the pieces fitted together. I knew how the crime had been done. The high note on the trumpet that had shattered the glass
The glass had nitroglycerin!
Now I knew who the killer was, but it didn't matter anymore. Killers had to die
Another page in the casebook of Rod Riley was finished. The city was asleep. Joints were closed. The rats, the hoods, the killers were in their holes. I felt good, but something was missing. She was bad. She was dangerous. I wouldn't trust her any farther than I could throw her. But she was my kinda woman
The Girl Hunt Ballet was written by Arthur Schwartz.