poetic,
I'm so pathetic,
that I always have found it best,
instead of getting them off my chest,
to let them rest, unexpressed.
I hate parading my serenading, as
I'll probably miss the ball,
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
Coliseum.
You're the top.
You're the
Lou
Museum.
You're a melody from
a symphony by
Strauss.
You're a
Vendel
Bond, a
Shakespeare sonnet, you're
Mickey
Mountain.
You're the
Nile, you're the
Tower 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
Gandhi.
You're the top, you're
Napoleon
Brandy.
You're the purple light of
a summer night in
Spain.
You're the
National
Gallery, you're
Gar bo'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 stated 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 cool -ish scholar
You're the nimble tread of the feet of
Fred
Astaire
You're an
O 'Neill drama, you're
Whistler's mama, you're
Cameron
Baird
You're reposed, you're inferno's dandy,
you're the nose on the great
Durante.
I'm just in the way, as the
French would say, detroit, 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.
Astor, you're
Pepsodent
You're a man, you're the steps of
Russia, you're the pan
on a rocky usher,
I'm a lazy
lout just about to start, but if baby
I'm the bottom, you're the top.