You're The Top (Anything Goes) - Ethel Merman
At words poetic I'm so pathetic
That I always have found it best
Instead of getting them off my chest
To let 'em rest
Unexpressed
I hate parading my serenading
For 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 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
Of the 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 a waldorf salad
You're the top
You're a Berlin ballad
You're the baby grand
Of a lady ended zen
You're an old Dutch master
You're misses astor
You're pipta dem
You're romance
You're the steppes of Russia
You're the pants
On a roxy usher
I'm a lazy low that's talks about to stop
But if baby I'm the bottom
You're the top