A Bit of You Rufus Wainwright

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