My story is much too sad to be told,

But practically everything leaves me totally cold.

The exception I know is the case

When I'm out ona 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 withsome gal in the sky

Is my idea of nothing to do.

Yet I get a kick - um you give me a boot - I get a kick out of you.