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  • Rufus Wainwright
    Miscellaneous
    A Bit Of You
    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 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...
    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.
  • Rufus Wainwright
    Miscellaneous
    A Bit Of You
    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 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...
    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.