For The Loot, Honey, For The Loot.

I Dealt With Men Who Had Tempers, And Who Could Get Violent-lord Knows How I Had To Defend Myself Against Howard Hughes And Frank Sinatra, And From Artie Shaw's Verbal Abuse. But George [c. Scott] Was A Different Category Of Animal When He Got Drunk. He'd Break Into My Hotel Room, Which He Did In Italy, London And At The Beverly Hills Hotel, Attack Me To Where I Was Frightened For My Life, And Scream, 'why Won't You Marry Me?' Well, I Would Never Marry A Man Who Couldn't Control His Liquor. Me, I'm A Happy Drunk. I Laugh, I Dance. I Certainly Don't Break Bottles And Threaten To Kill.

God Knows I've Got So Many Frailties Myself, I Ought To Be Able To Understand And Forgive Them In Others. But I Don't.

I Haven't Taken An Overdose Of Sleeping Pills And Called My Agent. I Haven't Been In Jail, And I Don't Go Running To The Psychiatrist Every Two Minutes. That's Something Of An Accomplishment These Days.

I Don't Mind Growing Old. If I Have To Go Before My Time, This Is How I'll Go-- Cigarette In One Hand, Glass Of Scotch In The Other.

Although No One Believes Me, I Have Always Been A Country Girl And Still Have A Country Girl's Values