You're the Top!

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 Colosseum,
You're the top, you're the Louvre Museum,
You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss,
You're a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeare 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 of the great Durante.
I'm just in the 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 Pepsodent!

You're romance, you're the steppes of Russia,
You're the pants on a Roxy usher.
I'm a lazy lout, that's just about to stop,
But if baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top.

I forgot how funny this is.