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!