Here is what Rapaire will regale the Getawayers with, probably tonight. He didn't say what he would be wearing, but I think it involved a hood of some sort. Here's the song:

Getaway! Getaway!
In far-off Idaho I heard your call.
Getaway! Getaway!
And here am I to give my all.
I know in my soul what you expect of me,
And all that and more I shall be.

A man of the Getaway should be a guy invincible,
Succeed where a less fantastic man would fail.
Climb a scale no one else can climb,
Chant a chorus that's naught but slime,
Sing a note that only certain dogs can wail!
No matter the key, he ought to be unwinceable,
Impossible songs should be his daily fare.
But where in the world
Is there in the world
A man so *extraordinaire*?

C'est moi! C'est moi, I'm forced to admit.
'Tis I, I humbly reply.
That mortal who
These marvels can do,
C'est moi, c'est moi, 'tis I.
I'm never lost
In shantey or song
I'm simply the best by far.
When clefs are crossed
'Tis always the same:
One note and au revoir!
C'est moi! C'est moi! So adm'rably fit!
Idaho's Apollo unbound.
And here I stand, with music untold,
Exeption'ly brave, amazingly bold,
To sing a song or round!

A soul of music should be a thing remarkable,
His heart and his mind as pure as morning dew.
With a voice and a self-restraint
That's the envy of ev'ry saint
He could easily sing a miracle or two.
To love and desire he ought to be unstoppable
But the ways of the flesh should offer no allure.
But where in the world
Is there in the world
A voice so untouched and pure?
(C'est moi!)

C'est moi! C'est moi, I blush to disclose.
I'm far too noble to lie.
That man in whom
These qualities bloom,
C'est moi, c'est moi, 'tis I.
I've never strayed
From all I believe;
I'm blessed with an iron will.
Had I been made
A duet with Eve,
We'd be singing in Eden still.
C'est moi! C'est moi! The angels have chose
To sing their stanzas below,
And here I stand, as pure as a pray'r,
Pitch incredibly clean, with an octave to spare,
The singingest man I know!
C'est moi!