Things phonetic are copacetic when you've got my ass in a sling,
And I can feel the lash and sting - trying to sing is a whole 'nother thing
Copulating, not serenading, as you know, is my forté,
But this short melody I bellow demonstrates your métier
You're the top - you're Janet Reno
You're the top - you're cappuccino
You're Eugene's nest of paper strips and bile
You're Denny's coffee, you're treacle toffee, you're an X-File
You're Roswell - you're a hungry 'gator
You're the smell - in my refrigerator
I'm a worthless punk, a jerk, a Keystone Kop
But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top
You're the top - you're J. Edgar Hoover
You're the top - you're the Heimlich manoeuvre
You're the memory of an abductee recalled
You're Moby Dick, you're a skin flick, you're bald
You're speed dial - you're a supernova
You're the vial - full of Scully's ova
I'm a spooky agent at whom people gawp
But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top
You're the top - you're a gene mutation
You're the top - you're trepannation
You're a bright bon mot from the pen of Jose Chung
You're cigarettes, you're Leonard Betts, you're well-hung
You're Hong Kong - you're the Canadian border
You're a song - written by Cole Porter
I'm a diver who can only belly flop
But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top
FINIS
I've covertly worshipped your talent for five years, and now it's time to let you know. You're brilliant, and your filks scan perfectly.