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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 Shakespeart sonnet
You're Mickey Mouse
You're the Nile, You're the Tow'r 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, boy, 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 for a person who's just rehearsin'
Well I gotta say this my lad
You're the top You're Mahatma Ghandi
You're the top You're Napolean brandy
You're the purple light of a summer night in Spain
You're the National Gall'ry, You're Garbo's sal'ry
You're cellophane
You're sublime, You're a turkey dinner
You're the time of the Derby winner
I'm a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top
You're the top You're a Ritz hot toddy
You're the top You're a Brewster body
You're the boats that glide on the sleepy Zuider Zee
You're a Nathan Panning, You're Bishop Manning
You're broccoli
You're a prize, You're a night at Coney
You're the eyes of Irene Bordoni
I'm a broken doll, a fol de rol, a blop
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 nost 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 Waldorf salad
You're the top You're a Berlin ballad
You're a baby grand of a lady and a gent
You're an old dutch master, You're Mrs Aster
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
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 Botticelli, You're Keats, You're Shelley
You're Ovaltine
You're a boon, You're the dam at Boulder
You're the moon over Mae West's shoulder
I'm a nominee of the GOP or GOP
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top
You're the top You're the Tower of Babel
You're the top You're the Whitney Stable
By the River Rhine, You're a sturdy stein of beer
You're a dress from Saks's, You're next year's taxes,'
You're stratosphere
You're my thoist, You're a Drumstick Lipstick
You're da foist in da Irish svipstick
I'm a frightened frog that can find no log to hop
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top