We use cookies to customize content and advertising, to provide social media features, and to analyze traffic to our site. We also share information about your use of our site with our trusted social media, advertising and analytics partners. Read more.

    Ginny Simms / Lyrics

    Playlist 0 Rate 0 Like & Share Print Email Play

    "You're The Top" Lyrics

    Ginny Simms

    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 Coliseum.

    You're the top!
    You're the Louver 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, the time of a 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
    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 boom,
    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!
    This song was submitted on September 18th, 2013 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Warner/chappell Music, Inc..
    Written by Cole Porter.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

    Song Details

    Rank: (−)
    −/5 from 0 users
    Charts: view all »
    Referring urls:view all »


    Songs you may also like


    leaderboard activity


    Facebook (0) LetsSingIt (0)