My story is much too sad to be told
But practically everything leaves me totally cold
The only exception I know is the case
When I'm out on a quiet spree
Fighting vainly the old ennui
And I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face
I get no kick from champagne
Mere alcohol
Doesn't thrill me at all
So tell me why should it be true
That I get a kick out of you?
Some—they may go for cocaine
I'm sure that if
I took even one sniff
It would bore me terrifically, too
Yet I get a kick out of you
I get a kick every time I see
You standing there before me
I get a kick though it's clear to see
You obviously
Do not adore me
I get no kick in a plane
Flying too high
With some gal in the sky
Is my idea of nothing to do
Yet I get a kick out of you
I get a kick though it's clear to see
You obviously
Do not adore me
I get no kick in a plane
Flying too high
With some gal in the sky
Is my idea of nothing to do
Yet I get a kick
You give me a whirl
I get a kick out of you
Get my kicks out of you
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