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 Garbo’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 fated 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 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 nose of the great Durante

I’m just in a way, as the French would say, de trop

But if baby I’m the bottom, you’re the top, the top, 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’re simply too, too diveen

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 the 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 a Waldorf salad

You’re the top! You’re a Berlin ballad

You’re the boats that glide on the sleepy Zuider Zee

You’re an Old Dutch Master, you’re Lady Astor

You’re broccoli

You’re romance, you’re the steppes of Russia

You’re the pants, on a Roxy usher

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!