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 april's 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.