You think some teabag can compete with you? You think he's got one tiny fraction of your brains? Your looks? Your...
At words poetic I'm so pathetic that I always have found it best
Instead of getting them off my chest
To let them 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 the Coliseum
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
I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop
But if baby I'm the bottom you're the top
Your poetic are not pathetic, on the other hand, babe, you shine
And I can feel after every line
A thrill sublime down my spine
Now gifted humans like Vincent Youmans might think that your song it bad
But I've 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 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 a 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 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 a 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 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 a hot tamale
You're an angel, you're simply too too too divine
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 the nominee of the GOP
Or gop
But if baby I'm the bottom you're the top
But if baby I'm the bottom
But if baby I'm the bottom
You're the top
You're the top
You're my Swanee River
You're a goose's liver
You're the baby brand of a lady and a gent
You're a dress from Saks'
You're next year's taxes
You're Pepsodent
You're a prize
You're a night at Cooney
You're the eyes
Of Irene Bordoni
I'm a frightened frog that can find no log to hop
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 steps of Russia
You're the pants
On a Roxy usher
I'm a broken doll
A fol-de-rol
A flop
But if baby I'm the bottom
But if baby I'm the bottom
But if baby I'm the bottom
You're the top

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