At words poetic, I´m so pathetic That I always have found it best Instead of getting ´em off my chest To let ´em rest unexpressed I hate parading my serenading
As I´ll probably miss a bar But if this ditty is not so pretty At least it´ll tell you How great you are
You´re the top! You´re the Coliseum You´re the top! You´re the Louver Museum You´re a melody from a symphony by Strauss You´re a Bendel bonnet A Shakespeare´s sonnet You´re Mickey Mouse You´re the Nile You´re the Tower of Pisa You´re the smile on the Mona Lisa I´m a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop But if, baby, I´m the bottom you´re the top!
Your words poetic are not pathetic On the other hand, babe, you shine And I can feel after every line A thrill divine Down my spine Now gifted humans like Vincent Youmans Might think that your song is bad But I got a notion I´ll second the motion And this is what I´m going to add; You´re the top! You´re Mahatma Gandhi You´re the top! You´re Napoleon Brandy You´re the purple light Of a summer night in Spain You´re the National Gallery
You´re Garbo´s salary You´re cellophane You´re sublime You´re turkey dinner You´re the time, the time of a Derby winner I´m a toy balloon that´s fated soon to pop But if, baby, I´m the bottom You´re the top!
You´re the top! You´re an arrow collar You´re the top! You´re a Coolidge dollar You´re the nimble tread Of the feet of Fred Astaire You´re an O´Neill drama
You´re Whistler´s mama!
You´re camembert
You´re a rose You´re Inferno´s Dante
You´re the nose On the great Durante I´m just in a way As the French would say, "de trop" But if, baby, I´m the bottom You´re the top!
You´re the top! You´re a dance in Bali You´re the top! You´re a hot tamale You´re an angel, you Simply too, too, too diveen
You´re a Boticcelli You´re Keats You´re Shelly!
You´re Ovaltine! You´re a boom You´re the dam at Boulder You´re the moon Over Mae West´s shoulder I´m the nominee of the G.O.P Or GOP!
But if, baby, I´m the bottom You´re the top!
You´re the top! You´re a Waldorf salad You´re the top!
You´re a Berlin ballad You´re the boats that glide On the sleepy Zuider Zee You´re an old Dutch master
You´re Lady Astor You´re broccoli! You´re romance You´re the steppes of Russia You´re the pants, on a Roxy usher I´m a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop