You're the Top

No no, guys like me deliver her groceries
They don't walk her down the aisle
Besides, she is engaged to some English guy
An earl or something
Ah, Billy, where's the old Crocker confidence?
You think that t-bag, he can compete with you?
You think he's got one tiny fraction of your brains?
Your looks, your, your-

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 Yeomans
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 a turkey dinner
You're the time, of the Derby winter
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 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 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 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 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 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