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
Mmm, you give me a boot
I get a kick out of you
Some like the perfume from Spain
I'm sure that if I took even one sniff
It would bore me terrifically, too
But I get a kick out of you
Some like the bop-typeain
I'm sure that if I heard even one riff
It would bore me terrifically, too
But I get a kick out of you

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