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A Bit of You Lyrics
A bit of you's the only drug I must abuse
A bit of you's 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
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
No there ain't no style
Cause 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 you, zillions I realize
And just one of me
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've infected Harlem
Guess I won't be waiting, several hours
Before nightfall for that A train,
just the hiss of the Dune's band playin'.
A bit of you's 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
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
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
No there ain't no style
Cause there ain't no style
And in fact there is just one other problem
I would have spared Harlem
Don't you need me, wait I thought we were on Broadway
No, my daddy said so, "Still outside of Moscow."
Don't you need me, wait I thought we were on Broadway
No, my daddy said so, "Still outside of Moscow."
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 you, zillions I realize
And just one of me
No there ain't no style
Cause there ain't no style
And in fact there is just one other problem
You've infected Harlem
Before nightfall for that A train,
just the hiss of the Dune's band playin'.
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When he says Chekov, is he alluding to the author ? Anton Chekov wrote a short story about a man who had an affair with a lady in Russia but couldn't continue because they were from two different places and both married.... Just a thought
I didn't listen to this song much at first, but it's really begun to grow on me. I'm not entirely sure what this song is about. It's obvious referring to an addiction of some sort, whether it be drugs, alcohol, or a person. I think this may be one of those songs that means one thing when it's written, and something entirely different to the listener. But that's what I love about his music. It can be interpreted and applied in many different ways.