| A long, long time ago…
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| I can still remember
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| How that music used to make me smile
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| And I knew if I had my chance
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| That I could make those people dance
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| And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while
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| But February made me shiver
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| With every paper I’d deliver
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| Bad news on the doorstep;
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| I couldn’t take one more step
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| I can’t remember if I cried
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| When I read about his widowed bride
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| But something touched me deep inside
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| The day the music died
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| So bye-bye, Miss American Pie
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| Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
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| And them good old boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
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| Singing, «This'll be the day that I die
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| «This'll be the day that I die.»
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| Did you write the book of love
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| And do you have faith in God above
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| If the Bible tells you so?
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| Do you believe in rock 'n' roll
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| Can music save your mortal soul
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| And can you teach me how to dance real slow?
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| Well, I know that you’re in love with him
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| `Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
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| You both kicked off your shoes
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| Man, I dig those rhythm and blues
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| I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
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| With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
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| But I knew I was out of luck
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| The day the music died
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| I started singing
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| Bye, bye Miss American Pie
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| Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
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| And them good old boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
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| Singing, «This'll be the day that I die
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| «This'll be the day that I die.»
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| Now for ten years we’ve been on our own
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| And moss grows fat on a rollin' stone
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| But that’s not how it used to be
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| When the jester sang for the king and queen
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| In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
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| And a voice that came from you and me
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| Oh, and while the king was looking down
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| The jester stole his thorny crown
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| The courtroom was adjourned;
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| No verdict was returned
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| And while Lennon read a book on Marx
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| The quartet practiced in the park
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| And we sang dirges in the dark
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| The day the music died
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| We were singing
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| Bye, bye Miss American Pie
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| Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
|
| And them good old boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
|
| Singing, «This'll be the day that I die
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| «This'll be the day that I die.»
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| Helter skelter in a summer swelter
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| The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
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| Eight miles high and falling fast
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| It landed foul on the grass
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| The players tried for a forward pass
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| With the jester on the sidelines in a cast
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| Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
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| While the sergeants played a marching tune
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| We all got up to dance
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| Oh, but we never got the chance!
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| `Cause the players tried to take the field;
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| The marching band refused to yield
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| Do you recall what was revealed
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| The day the music died?
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| We started singing
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| Bye, bye Miss American Pie
|
| Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
|
| And them good old boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
|
| Singing, «This'll be the day that I die
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| «This'll be the day that I die.»
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| Oh, and there we were all in one place
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| A generation lost in space
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| With no time left to start again
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| So come on: Jack be nimble, Jack be quick!
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| Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
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| 'Cause fire is the devil’s only friend
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| Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
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| My hands were clenched in fists of rage
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| No angel born in hell
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| Could break that Satan’s spell
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| And as the flames climbed high into the night
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| To light the sacrificial rite
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| I saw Satan laughing with delight
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| The day the music died
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| We were singing
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| Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
|
| Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
|
| And them good old boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
|
| Singing, «This'll be the day that I die
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| «This'll be the day that I die.»
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| I met a girl who sang the blues
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| And I asked her for some happy news
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| But she just smiled and turned away
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| I went down to the sacred store
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| Where I’d heard the music years before
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| But the man there said the music wouldn’t play
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| And in the streets: the children screamed
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| The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
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| But not a word was spoken;
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| The church bells all were broken
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| And the three men I admire most:
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| The father, son, and the holy ghost
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| They caught the last train for the coast
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| The day the music died
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| And they were singing
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| And there I stood alone and afraid
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| I dropped to my knees and there I prayed
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| And I promised him everything I could give
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| If only he would make the music live
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| And he promised it would live once more
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| But this time one would equal four
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| And in five years four had come to mourn
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| And the music was reborn
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| Bye-bye Miss American Pie
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| Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
|
| And them good old boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
|
| Singing, «This'll be the day that I die
|
| «This'll be the day that I die.»
|
| They were singing
|
| Bye-bye Miss American Pie
|
| Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
|
| And them good old boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
|
| Singing, «This'll be the day that I die» |