You're the Top Cole Porter (#1 in 1935), from Anything Goes,
Paul Whiteman (#2 in 1934), Ethel Merman (#4 in 1935)
verse:
At words poetic I'm so pathetic that I always have found it best
Instead of getting them 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 to a symphony by Strauss
You're an 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, youre the top
 
verse:
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 Gandi
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 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 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 the 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're simply too too too deveeen
You're a Botticelli, You're Keats, you're Shelley, 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, 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 Mrs. Astor, you're Pepsodent
You're romance, you're the Steppes of Russia
You're the pants on a Roxie usher
I'm a lazy lout that's just about to stop
But if baby I'm the bottom you're the top
 
You're the top, you're a Ritz hot toddy
You're the top, you're a Brewster body
You're the boats that glide on the sleepy Zuider Zee
You're a Nathan Panning, you're a Bishop Banning, you're broccoli
You're a prize, you're a night at Coney
You're the eyes of Irene Bordoni
I'm a broken doll, a falderol, a blop
But if Baby I'm the bottom, you're the top

You're the top, you're the tower of Babel
You're the top, you're the Whitney Stable
By the river Rhein you're a sturdy stein of beer
You're a dress from Saks's, you're next years taxes, you're stratosphere
You're my thoist, you're a drumstick lipstick
You're duh foist in the duh Irish Svipstick
I'm a frightened frog that can find no log to hop
But if Baby I'm the bottom, you're the top



  
 
Some original dummy lyrics included “You’re the Breasts of Venus, You’re King Kong’s Penis...”