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
Then 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
And 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
And I get a kick, you give me a boot
And I get a kick out of you
