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

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, I get a kick out of you