Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Hal Linden
Vocals
Eileen Rodgers
Vocals
Julian Stein
Orchestra Director
Lawrence Kasha
Conductor
Ted Simons
Conductor
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Cole Porter
Composer
Julian Stein
Orchestrator
Lawrence Kasha
Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
James Foglesong
Producer
Lyrics
At words poetic I'm so pathetic
That i always have found it best
Instead of getting 'em off my chest
To let them rest, unexpressed
I hate-parade my serenade
As I'll probably miss a bar
But if my 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
Your words poetic are not pathetic
On the other hand, boy, you shine
And I can feel after every line
A thrill devine down my spine
Some critical meany like Tuscany
Might think that your song is bad
But I got a notion of second emotion
And this is what I'm going to add
You're the top, you're a silver dollar
You're the top, you're an arrow collar
You're the nimble tread off the feet of Fred Astaire
You're an O'neill drama, you're Whistler's manager
You're Camembert
You're the pearl, that the divers fetch up
Milton Berle and tomato ketchup
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 a Caesar salad
Your the top, you're a Berlin ballad
You're the boy I'd swipe for the perfect type of mail
You're an old Dutch master, you're Lady Aster
You're Chippendale
You're a rose, you're Inferno's Dante
You're the nose on the Great Durante
I'm just in the way
As the French would say, "de trop"
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 a new invention
You're the top, you're the fourth dimension
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 romance, you're the steps of Russia
You're the pants on a Roxy usher
I'm a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a flop
But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top!
Written by: Cole Porter