My story is much too sad to be told but practically ev'rything 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 like the perfume from Spain
I'm sure that if
I took even one sniff
It would bore me terrific'ly too
Yet I get a kick out of you
I get a kick ev'rytime
I see you're standing there before me
I get a kick though it's clear to me
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 boost
I get a kick out of you