Luyện nghe bài hát You're the Top

At words poetic, I'm so
That I always found it best,
of getting 'em off my chest,
To let 'em unexpressed.
I hate my serenading
As I'll probably a bar,
But if ditty is not so pretty,
At least it'll tell you how you are.

You're the top! the Colosseum,
You're the top! the Louvre Museum,
You're a from a symphony by Strauss,
You're a bonnet, a Shakespeart sonnet,
You're Mouse.
You're the Nile, You're the of Pisa,
You're the smile on the Lisa.
I'm a worthless check, a wreck, a flop,
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
the top!

Your poetic are not pathetic
On the other hand, boy, you
And I can feel after every
A thrill divine my spine.
Now gifted humans Vincent Youmans
think that your song is bad,
But for a person just rehearsin'
Well I say this my lad:

You're the top! You're Ghandi.
the top! You're Napolean brandy.
You're the purple of a summer night in Spain,
You're the Gall'ry, You're Garbo's sal'ry,
cellophane.
You're sublime, a turkey dinner.
the time of the Derby winner.
I'm a toy that is fated soon to pop.
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
the top!

You're the top! You're a hot toddy.
You're the top! a Brewster body.
You're the boats glide on the sleepy Zuider Zee,
You're a Nathan Panning, Bishop Manning,
broccoli.
You're a prize, You're a at Coney,
the eyes of Irene Bordoni,
I'm a doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop,
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
the top.

You're the top! You're an collar.
the top! You're a Coolidge dollar.
You're the nimble of the feet of Fred Astaire,
an O'Neill drama, You're Whistler's mama,
Camembert.
You're a rose, Inferno's Dante,
the nost of the great Durante.
I'm in the way, as the French would say
"De trop,"
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
the top.

You're the top! You're a salad.
You're the top! a Berlin ballad.
You're a baby of a lady and a gent.
You're an old dutch master, Mrs. Aster,
Pepsodent.
You're romance, You're the of Russia,
You're the on a Roxy usher.
I'm a lazy lout that's just to stop,
But if Baby, I'm the bottom,
the top!

You're the top! a dance in Bali.
the top! You're a hot tamale.
You're an angel, you too, too, too divine,
a Botticelli, You're Keats, You're Shelley,
Ovaltine.
You're a boon, the dam at Boulder,
You're the moon Mae West's shoulder.
I'm a of the G.O.P. or GOP,
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
the top!

You're the top! the Tower of Babel.
You're the top! the Whitney Stable.
By the River Rhine, You're a sturdy of beer,
You're a dress from Saks's, You're year's taxes,'
stratosphere.
You're my thoist, You're a Lipstick,
You're the foist in the svipstick,
I'm a frightened frog that can no log to hop,
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
the top!