Lyrics You're the Top - Billy May

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!