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Track: Orphans Of Wealth
Artist: Don McLean
Album: Tapestry

Artist Bio

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Name: Don McLean
Followers: 1,143,993
Popularity:

63/100

Biography

American singer-songwriter, and guitarist, born October 2, 1945 in New Rochelle, New York. Known for his 1971 ballad "American Pie", about an event known as The Day the Music Died (which refers to the deaths of 50's rock & roll legends Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and Big Bopper).

Source: Discogs

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Release: Don McLean - Tapestry
Year: 1971
Genres: Rock
Styles: Soft Rock

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Source: MusicBrainz

LYRICS

There is no time to discuss or debate What is right, what is wrong for our people Time has run out for all those who wait With bent limbs and minds that are feeble And the rain falls and blows through their window And the snow falls and blows through their door And the seasons revolve 'mid their sounds of starvation When the tides rise, they cover the floor And they come from the north And they come from the south And they come from the hills and they valleys And they're migrants and farmers And miners and humans Our census neglected to tally And the rain falls and blows through their window And the snow falls and blows through their door And the seasons revolve 'mid their sounds of starvation When the tides rise, they cover the floor And they're African, Mexican, Caucasian, Indian Hungry and hopeless Americans The orphans of wealth and of adequate health Disowned by this nation they live in And with weather-worn hands On bread lines they stand Yet but one more degradation Yes, and they're treated like tramps While we sell them food stamps This thriving and prosperous nation And the rain falls and blows through their window And the snow falls and blows through their door And the seasons revolve 'mid their sounds of starvation When the tides rise, they cover the floor And with roaches and rickets and rats in the thickets Infested, diseased, and decaying With rags and no shoes and skin sores that ooze By the poisonous pools they are playing In shacks of two rooms that are rotting wood tombs With corpses breathing inside them Yes, and we pity their plight as they call in the night And we do all that we can do to