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作曲 : Cole Porter
At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
That I always have found it best,
Instead of getting 'em off my chest,
To let 'em rest unexpressed,
I hate parading my serenading
As 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 Shakespeare's 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!
Your words poetic are not pathetic.
On the other hand, babe, you shine,
And I can feel after every line
A thrill divine
Down my spine.
Now gifted humans like Vincent Youmans
Might think that your song is bad,
But I got a notion
I'll second the motion
And this is what I'm going to add:
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 turkey dinner,
You're the time of a 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 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, on 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!
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 diveen,
You're a Boticcelli,
You're Keats, you're Shelly, 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,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!
You're the top!
You're my Swanee river!
You're the top!
You're a goose's liver!
You're the baby grande of a Lady
and a Gent.
You're a dress from Saks,
You're next years taxes,
You're Pepsi-dent!
You're a prize,
You're a night at Coney!
You're the eyes of Irene Bordoni.
I'm a frightened frog,
that can find no log to hop!
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,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!
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