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.
