You're the Top

At words poetic, I'm so pathetic

That I always have found it best

Instead of getting them off my chest

To let 'em rest unexpressed

I hate parading my serenading

For 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 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's fated soon to pop

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 the 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!