You're the Top (from "Anything Goes") Songtext

von Cole Porter

At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
That I always have found it best
Instead of getting them off my chest
To let 'em rest unexpressed
I hate parading my serenading
As I probably miss the 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
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 the 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 [Incomprehensible], 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 the Waldorf salad
You're the top, you're a Berlin ballad
You're the basic grand of a lady and the gents
You're an old Dutch master, you're Mrs. Astor
You're Pepsodent
You're romance, you're the steps of Russia
You're the pants on a Roxy usher
I'm a lazy lout with just about to stop
But if baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top