No, no. Guys like me deliver her groceries, they don't walk her down the aisle. Besides, she's engaged to some English guy. An Earl or something. Billy, where's the old Crocker confidence? You think that T-bat can compete with you? You think he's got one tiny fraction of your brains? Your looks? Your... Your... Words poetic, I'm so pathetic That I always have found it best Instead of getting him off my chest To let him rest Unexpressed I hate parading my serenading As I'll probably miss a bore 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 Mendelssohn and a Shakespeare sonnet to 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 Heumanns 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 Brandi You're the purple light of a summer night in Spain You're the National Gallery You're garbo celery 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 color 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 a whistler's mama You're a tannin bear You're a rose You're Inferno's dante You're the nose I'm the great Durrani I'm just in the way As the French will say, the trap But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top You're the top You're a dancing barley You're the top You're a hot tamale You're an angel You're simply too, too, too divine You're a Botticelli You're Shelly You're Ovaltine You're a boon You're the dandy You're the moon You're the dammit boulder You're the moon Over Mae West's shoulder I'm a nominee of the GOP Or GAP But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top You're the top You're a wad of salad You're the top You're a Berlin ballad You're the notes that glide on the sleepy side of Z You're an old Dutchman You're Lady Esther You're broccoli You're romance You're the steps of Russia You're the pants On a Roxy Usher I'm a broken dollar, a photo roll, a block But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top You're the top