At Long Last Love Page #5

Yeah?

Yeah.

Well, listen...

Buongiorno!

Okay, watch me.

You are hitching hike?

Hmm?

Hitching hike.

Oh, of course. We always

hitching hike after we lose.

Sort of a penance.

Ah.

And what do strong, handsome

Venetians do when they win?

Whatever the ladies desire.

The subway. The subway.

Well, how about a little hitch

for two sore losers?

No, just one.

I gotta see a man about a dog.

Oh.

Beth.

You know, snooks,

three on a match and all that.

Yeah, it will be my pleasure

to drive you.

You ain't kiddin'.

At words poetic,

I'm so pathetic;

That I always

have found it best

Hmm?

Instead of getting them

off my chest

To let 'em rest

unexpressed

You mustn't do that.

I hate parading

my serenading

And I'll probably miss a bar;

That was good.

But if this ditty

is not so pretty;

At least it'll tell you

How great you are

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

I've never been so bad.

You're romance

You're the steppes

of Russia

You're the pants

Pants?

On a Roxy usher;

I'm a lazy lout that is just

about to stop Oh, don't stop.

But if, baby, I'm the bottom,

you're the top

Oh, thank you.

Your words poetic

are not pathetic; No?

On the other hand,

boy, you shine Oh.

And I can feel after

every line Yeah?

A thrill divine

Down my spine

Now, gifted humans

like Vincent Youmans

Might think that your song is

bad Oh, what does he know?

But for a person

who's just rehearsin'

Well, I gotta say

this, my lad

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

That's nice.

You're an O'Neill drama

You're Whistler's mama

You're Camembert

Camembert.

You're a rose

You're Infemo's Dante

You're the nose

The nose?

The nose.

On the great Durante

Oh, yeah.

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.

How can you sing?

I'm dizzy.

You're a dancing belly;

You're the top

You're a hot tamale

You're an ngel

You're simply too,

too, too diveen

You're a Botticelli

You're Keats

You're Shelley

You're Ovaltine

Aw.

You're a boon

You're the darn

at Boulder

You're the moon

Really?

Over Mae West's shoulder

I'm a nominee

Of the G.O.P.

Or GOP;

But if, baby, I'm the bottom

You're the top

Mopsie!

You Okay?

I don't get enough exercise.

You know that?

No?

No.

You're the top

You're the Colosseum

You know the Colosseum?

Mm-hmm.

You're the top

You're the Louvre museum

You're a melody

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