My story is much to sad to be told

But practically everything

Leaves me totally cold

The only exception I know is the case When I'm out on a quiet spree

Fighting vainly the old ennui

And I suddenly turn and see

Your fabulous face I get no kick from champagne

Mere alcohol doesn't move me at all

So tell me why should it be true

That I get a kick out of you Some like the perfume from Spain

I'm sure that if I took even one sniff

It would bore me terrifically too

I do get a kick out of you I get a kick every time I see you

Standing there before me

I get a kick though it's clear to see

You obviously do not adore me I get no kick in a plane

Flying too high with some gal in the sky

Is my idea of nothing to do

And I get a kick, you give me a boot

I get a kick out of you