Celebrating the 123rd birthday of the great Cole Porter! At - TopicsExpress

Celebrating the 123rd birthday of the great Cole Porter! At words poetic, Im 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 Ill probably miss a bar, But if this ditty is not so pretty At least itll tell you How great you are. Youre the top! Youre the Coliseum. Youre the top! Youre the Louvre Museum. Youre a melody from a symphony by Strauss Youre a Bendel bonnet, A Shakespeares sonnet, Youre Mickey Mouse. Youre the Nile, Youre the Tower of Pisa, Youre the smile on the Mona Lisa Im a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop, But if, baby, Im the bottom youre 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 Youmans Might think that your song is bad, But I got a notion Ill second the motion And this is what Im going to add; Youre the top! Youre Mahatma Gandhi. Youre the top! Youre Napoleon Brandy. Youre the purple light Of a summer night in Spain, Youre the National Gallery Youre Garbos salary, Youre cellophane. Youre sublime, Youre turkey dinner, Youre the time of a Derby winner, Im a toy balloon thats fated soon to pop But if, baby, Im the bottom, Youre the top! Youre the top! Youre an arrow collar Youre the top! Youre a Coolidge dollar, Youre the nimble tread Of the feet of Fred Astaire, Youre an ONeill drama, Youre Whistlers mama! Youre camembert. Youre a rose, Youre Infernos Dante, Youre the nose On the great Durante. Im just in a way, As the French would say, de trop. But if, baby, Im the bottom, Youre the top! Youre the top! Youre a dance in Bali. Youre the top! Youre a hot tamale. Youre an angel, you, Simply too, too, too diveen, Youre a Botticelli, Youre Keats, Youre Shelley! Youre Ovaltine! Youre a boom, Youre the dam at Boulder, Youre the Moon, Over Mae Wests shoulder, Im the nominee of the G.O.P. Or GOP! But if, baby, Im the bottom, Youre the top! Youre the top! Youre a Waldorf salad. Youre the top! Youre a Berlin ballad. Youre the boats that glide On the sleepy Zuider Zee, Youre an old Dutch master, Youre Lady Astor, Youre broccoli! Youre romance, Youre the steppes of Russia, Youre the pants, on a Roxy usher, Im a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop, But if, baby, Im the bottom, Youre the top!

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