You're the top
You're financial lev'rage
You're the top
You're a maiden's cleav'rage
You're the funny gab of a Punjab taxi guy
You're Rivera’s mural, an epidural, you're Spanish Fly

You're the height
Of The Donald's Tower
You're a Dwight
David Eisenhower
You're the Cyclone ride that's the pride of Coney Isle
You're a fortune cookie, you're royal nookie, you're doggie-style

Yes, indeed
You're a backseat make-out
You're the speed
Of a Chinese take-out
You're the one to beat for a subway seat at night
You're a rhythmic motion, a useful lotion for cellulite

You're a shoe
That is made by Bally
You're a sock
From Muhammad Ali
I'm a homeless pet, a New York Met, I flop
But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top

* * *

You're ideal
You're the Unabomber
You're a meal
Made by Jeffrey Dahmer
You're the GOP getting time for free on Fox
You're a vote for Romney, the grits of hom’ny, you’re chicken pox

You're the stall
With the broken flusher
You're the Fall
Of the House of Usher
You're the holy hell of postcoital tristesse
You're a ripe carbuncle, the type of uncle who wears a dress

You're the reek
Of an aging herring
You're a week
Spent with Herman Goering
You're the sudden slip of a tipsy rookie moyel
You're a boring party, the Moriarty of Conan Doyle

You're a dose
Of a health store's herbals
You're a close friend of Joseph Goebbels
You're a Christmas Day planned for Jon Benet at home
You're the job of kissing the child who's missing a chromosome

Get a grip:
You're depressive-manic
You're a dip
With the ship Titanic
I'm the greater man, a later Lancelot
So if buddy I'm the top guy, you are not!