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 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. It 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 I get a kick out of you