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 paradin'
My serenadin'
As I'll probably miss a bar.
So if this ditty
Is not so pretty,
At least it will tell you how great you are.

You're the top.
You're the Coliseum.
You're the Top.
You're the Louvre Museum.
You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss.
You're a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeare sonnet, you're Mickey Mouse!
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 a silver dollar.
You're the top.
You're an Arrow collar.
You're the nimble tread on the feet of Fred Astaire.
You're an O'Neill drama, you're Whistler's mama, you're Camembert.
You're the pearl
That the divers fetch up.
Milton Berle
And tomato ketchup.
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 new invention.
You're the top.
You're the fourth dimension.
You're the purple light of a summer night in Spain.
You're the National Gallery, your Garbo's Salary, you're cellophane.
You're romance.
You're the steppes of Russia.
You're the Pants
On a Roxy usher.
I'm a broken doll, a folderol, a flop!
But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top!

Cole Porter (author), Robert Kimball (editor), Cole Porter: Selected Lyrics (Library of America, 2006)