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 Coliseum.    You're the top!    You're the Louve Museum.    You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss    You're a Bendel bonnet,    A Shakespeare's 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 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    On the great Durante.    I'm just in a 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 broccoli!    You're romance,    You're the steppes of Russia,    You're the pants, on a Roxy usher,    I'm a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop,       But if, baby, I'm the bottom,    You're the top!