Ainda não encontramos a cifra desta música. Por enquanto, aqui está a letra. 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 Louvre museum.
You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss
You're a Bendel bonnet,
A Shakespeare 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 a turkey dinner,
You're 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 Waldorf salad
You're the top!
You're a Berlin ballad
You're a baby grand of a lady and a gent
You're an old dutch master, You're Mrs. Aster,
You're Pepsodent
You're romance, You're the steppes of Russia,
You're the pants on a Roxy usher
I'm a lazy lout that's just about to stop,
But if Baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top!