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 Macchu Picchu.
You're the top.
It's so great to micchu.
You're so ravishing, I've just got to sing some notes,
When it comes to art, I ain't Mozart, but baby you're the Moz!
You are high
In the natural order,
You're as sly
As the late Cole Porter.
I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop!
But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top.
You're so terrific
I'll be specific
And say that a recent test
Of areas in the whole U.S.
Have shown that, yes, it's the Midwest.
I know I shouldn't
Sing and I wouldn't
If Placido Domingo were here,
But since he's not, I guess I've got
To tell you how great you are, my dear.
You're good news.
And we can't deny you.
You're a cruise
Down along the bayou.
You're the big hit song played along the Great White Way
You're a four-leaf clover, a bossa nova, you're Beausoleil.
You're the cry
Of a Cajun fiddler.
You're the sky,
Except somewhat littler.
I'm a toy balloon that's fated soon to pop.
But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top!
You're unique.
You're the mark of quality.
You're a week
Of a winter holiday.
You're the OED on a single CD-ROM.
You're a bar & grill, you're chlorophyll, you're Gil Shaham.
You're a trill
On his Stradivarius
You're a thrill
Though it is vicarious.
I'm just in the way, as the French would say,
"De trop."
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top!