A bit of you is the only drug I must abuse
A bit of you is the only substance I cannot refuse, when I walk on Spring
Beneath the stink, a bit of you is all I smell
Upon the shelf, a bit of you
I ask "they sell?" when I walk on Spring

'Cause there ain't no style, no there ain't no style, 'cause there ain't no style
And in fact there is just one other problem, you live up in Harlem

Of course I had no knowledge of this at the time
That came après July on the Upper West Side, waiting for the fall
When, from the Battery, on up to your front door
From mother ship, the rocket-launching twister whores would blow up it all

'Cause there ain't no style, no there ain't no style, 'cause there ain't no style
And in fact there is just one other problem, I would have spared Harlem

Affections sent, straight to Chekhov, say you need me
Don't you need me, wait I thought we were on Broadway
No, my Daddy said so: "still outside of Moscow"

Affections sent, straight to Chekhov, say you need me
Don't you need me, wait I thought we were on Broadway
No, my Daddy said so: "still outside of Moscow"

And so the days creep up to my big final show
And not a word from you, the hours I must blow
So I walk and see
Upon the street's a faded island, press on eyes
A big old pool of you's, zillions I realize
And just one of me

'Cause there ain't no style, no there ain't style, 'cause there ain't no style
And in fact there is just one other problem, you've infected Harlem
Guess I won't be waiting several hours before nightfall for that A train
Just the hiss of the dues band playing