Sutton Foster – You’re the Top Lyrics

You think some t-bag can compete with you?
You think he's got one tiny fraction of your brains?
Your looks?
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
But least it'll tell you
How great you are

You're the top
You're the Colosseum
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'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 Youmans
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 turkey dinner
You're the time, the time of a Derby winner
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 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 dance in Bali
You're the top
You're a hot tamale
You're an angel, you
Simply too, too, too diveen
You're a Botticelli
You're Keats

You're Shelly

You're Ovaltine

You're a boon
You're the dam at Boulder

You're the moon
Over Mae West's shoulder
I'm the nominee of the G.O.P.

Or GOP

But if, baby, I'm the bottom

But if, baby, I'm the bottom

But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top

You're the top
You're my Swanee river

You're the top
You're a goose's liver

You're the baby grande of a Lady
And a Gent

You're a dress from Saxes
You're next years taxes

You're Pepsi-dent

You're a prize
You're a night at Coney

You're the eyes of Irene Bordoni

I'm a frightened frog
That can find no log to hop

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

But if, baby, I'm the bottom

But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top