The barroom is cold and half empty.
The floor has been swept so it's clean.
Pushed back in the corner with the face of a mourner
Sits a dutiful U. S. Marine
Then prancing on in through the doorway
And swinging her hips like a pro
Comes a middle aged townie and when she looks down,
Oh, she focuses on G. I. Joe.

Oh, she says her name's Betty Grable
And he says he's really John Wayne
When you're five miles from nowhere with nothing,
Who gives a damn 'bout a name?

Now he don't look much like a cowboy
And her legs aren't perfectly formed,
But they dance through the night as the jukebox sets right
All the longings that long nights have born.

And they dance like there's no beginning
And they love like the pictures they've seen
At the Bijou on Fourth Street and Broadway
In the light of the silvery screen.

So if you say your name's Betty Grable,
I'll say I'm really John Wayne.
When you're five miles from nowhere with nothing,
Who gives a damn 'bout a name?

When you're five miles from nowhere with nothing, Who gives a damn 'bout a name?