You're the Top - Billy May and His Orchestra

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!