A bit of you's 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

But there ain't no style
No there ain't no style
Well 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
Well 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 streets a faded island press on eyes
A big old pool of yous, zillions I realize
And just one of me

But there ain't no style
No there ain't no style
Well 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 play