At words poetic, I'm so patheticThat I always have found it bestInstead of getting 'em off my chestTo let 'em rest unexpressedI hate parading my serenadingAs I'll probably miss a barBut if this ditty is not so prettyAt least it'll tell you how great you areYou're the top, you're the ColiseumYou're the top, you're the Louver museumYou're a melody from a symphony by StraussYou're a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeare's sonnetYou're Mickey Mouse, you're the NileYou're the Tower of PisaYou're the smile on the Mona LisaI'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flopBut if baby, I'm the bottom, you're the topYour words poetic are not patheticOn the other hand, babe, you shineAnd I can feel after every lineA thrill divine, down my spineNow gifted humans like Vincent YoumansMight think that your song is badBut I got a notion, I'll second the motionAnd this is what I'm going to addYou're the top, you're Mahatma GandhiYou're the top, you're Napoleon BrandyYou're the purple light of a summer night in SpainYou're the National Gallery, you're Garbo's salaryYou're cellophane, you're sublime,You're turkey dinnerYou're the time, the time of a Derby winnerI'm a toy balloon that's fated soon to popBut if baby, I'm the bottom, you're the topYou're the top, you're an arrow collarYou're the top, you're a Coolidge dollarYou're the nimble treadOf the feet of Fred AstaireYou're an O'Neill dramaYou're Whistler's mamaYou're CamembertYou're a roseYou're Inferno's DanteYou're the nose on the great DuranteI'm just in a wayAs the French would say, 'De trop'But if baby, I'm the bottom, you're the topYou're the top, you're a dance in BaliYou're the top, you're a hot tamaleYou're an angel, you simply too, too, too diveenYou're a Boticcelli, you're KeatsYou're ShellyYou're Ovaltine, you're a boomYou're the dam at BoulderYou're the moonOver Mae West's shoulderI'm the nominee of the G.O.P.Or GOPBut if baby, I'm the bottom, you're the topYou're the top, you're a Waldorf saladYou're the top, you're a Berlin balladYou're the boats that glideOn the sleepy Zuider ZeeYou're an old Dutch masterYou're Lady Astor, you're broccoliYou're romanceYou're the steppes of RussiaYou're the pants, on a Roxy usherI'm a broken doll, a fol, de, rol, a blopBut if baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top
You're the Top
You're the Top