The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
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
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'.
Lyrics submitted by ang, edited by Jayneisflying
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