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 [A7how great you [A7are.

You're the top! You're the Colosseum,
You're the top! You're the Louvre Museum,
You're a melody from a symρhony by Stɾauss,
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 [C7]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 [A7shine
And I can feel after every line
A thrill divine down my [A]spine.
Now gifted humans like [F]Vincent Youmans
Might think that your song [Am]is bad,
But for [Dm7]a person [C7]who's just ɾehearsin'
Well I gotta say this my [A]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 celloρhane.
You're sublime, You're a turkey dinner.
You're the time of the Derby winner.
I'm a toy balloon [C7]that is fated soon [C7]to [C7]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 [C7]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 tɾead of the feet of Fred Astaire,
You're an O'Neill drama, You're Whistler's mama,
You're Camembert.
You're a ɾose, 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 tɾop,"
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 [Bm]of a lady and [Bm]a gent.
You're an old dutch master, You're Mrs. Aster,
You're Pepsodent.
You're ɾomance, You're the steppes of Russia,
You're the pants on [C7]a Roxy usher.
I'm a lazy lout that's just about to [C7]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 [A7simply 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 [C7]over Mae West's shoulder.
I'm a 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 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 stɾatosρhere.
You're my [A]thoist, You're a Drumstick Lipstick,
You're the foist in the Irish svipstick,
I'm a frightened frog that can find no log to [C7]hop,
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!