A bit of you the only drug I must abuse

A bit of you is the only substance I cannot refuse

When I walk on Spring

Beneath the stench a bit of you is all I smell

Upon the shelves 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 aprs 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...

And in fact there is just one other problem

I would have spared Harlem



Affections sent, straight to Chekov, say you need me

Don't you need me, wait I thought we're 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, an hour I must blow

So I walk and see

Upon the streets 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...

You've infected Harlem

Guess I won't be waiting several hours

Before nightfall for that A train,

just the hiss of the dumes band play.