At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
that I always found it best
instead of getting them all my chest
to let them rest on express.
I hate parading,
serenading,
as I probably missed the ball.
But if this city is not so pretty,
at least it'll tell you how great you are.
You the tops.
You the coliseum.
You the top.
You a loom museum.
You a melody from a symphony by Strauss.
You a bandle bonnet, a Shakespeare sonnet.
You a Mickey Mouse.
You the Nile.
You the Tower of Pisa.
Mama, you the smile
on the
Mona Lisa.
I'm a worthless check, a total wreck,
a flop.
Buddy, baby,
I'm the bottom.
You the top.
You the top.
You Mahatma Gandhi.
You the top.
You Napoleon Brandi.
You the paper light of
a summer night in Spain.
You the National Gallery.
You Crosby, sorry.
You a cellophane.
Mama, you sublime.
You a turkey dinner.
Oh, you the time of a derby winner.
I'm a toy
balloon that's fated soon to pop.
Buddy, baby, I'm the bottom.
You the top.