Lyrics You’re The Top - Cole Porter

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
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 Gallery, You’re Garbo’s salary
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’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 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