Apparently, last week was Cole Porter's birthday. So to commemorate that day, here's one of his gay and lively tunes, and lyrics, too!

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 Lady Astor,
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!

* * *
And apparently, there are many versions, as if this were a Cylon thing.

Lyrics not included in this version:

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 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 Boticcelli,
You're Keats,
You're Shelly!

You're Ovaltine!
You're a boom,
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,
You're the top!

As an appendix to my blog post, here's Monty Python's "A Lesson in Logic" and the track that started it all, "A Witch" for some background. We also have a Massage from the Swedish Prime Minister (take that, MacLuhan!) and "Eric the Half a Bee" for some semi-carnal fun.