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At words poetic, I'm so patheticThat I always have found it best,Instead of getting 'em off my chest,To let 'em rest unexpressed.I hate parading my serenadingAs 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 patheticOn the other hand, boy, you shineAnd I can feel after every lineA thrill divine down my spine.Now gifted humans like Vincent YoumansMight think that your song is bad,SongtexteBut 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 divine,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 the foist in the 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! Aus Songtexte Mania