Bigger, longer and uncut: deixo-vos ainda o resto da letra de You're the Top. Resta ao leitor cantar por cima.

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 a 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
Simply too, too, too diveen
You're a Boticcelli
You're Keats
You're Shelly
You're Ovaltine!

You're a boom
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 the boats that glide
On the sleepy Zuider Zee
You're an old Dutch master
You're Lady Astor
You're broccoli

You're romance
You're the steppes of Russia
You're the pants, on a Roxy usher
I'm a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top!