Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song You're the Top, artist - Billy May and His Orchestra. Album song Sorta-May, No. 2, in the genre Джаз
Date of issue: 31.12.1954
Record label: BNF Collection
Song language: English
You're the Top |
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 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 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! |