My story is much to sad to be told   But practically everything   Leaves me totally cold   The only exception I know is the case      When I'm out on a quiet spree   Fighting vainly the old ennui   And I suddenly turn and see   Your fabulous face      I get no kick from champagne   Mere alcohol doesn't move me at all   So tell me why should it be true   That I get a kick out of you      Some like the perfume from Spain   I'm sure that if I took even one sniff   It would bore me terrifically too   I do get a kick out of you      I get a kick every time I see you   Standing there before me   I get a kick though it's clear to see   You obviously do not adore me      I get no kick in a plane   Flying too high with some gal in the sky   Is my idea of nothing to do   And I get a kick, you give me a boot   I get a kick out of you