Progress (Part 1: American Pie, Part 2: The Future Is Here) Songtext
von Shad
Progress (Part 1: American Pie, Part 2: The Future Is Here) Songtext
Bye bye miss American pie
Drove a block to that shop with the liquor inside
Singing ′Gin and Juice', drinking whiskey and rye
Thinking this′ll be the day that I...
The night the music died there were flashes of massive
Plane and stock crashes, flower baskets and caskets
AIG and B.I.G. and CIG and red ashes
From that burned down Baptist church where little black fists
Never got raised in the light of today's practice
Supposed post-blackness
The night the music died we burned all the classics
Onto one last disc of bright blue plastic
Johnny Cash hits and a rapper slash actress
More powerful than two Cleopatras
The night the music died, all so tragic
Then something else happened and we all got distracted
Something so dramatic for however long it lasted
We were saddened then ecstatic
Sang Michael then Imagine then...
Bye bye miss American pie
Miseducated by these terrible lies
Age 27 with a wink in her eye
Singing this'll be the day that I die
She cried "I′m bored"
We said "Yeah, you′re starting to bore us"
We've never gone this long without a chorus
The night the music died we expected a performance
We waited, the parade never came around our corners
The coroner′s report was a song by a foreigner
A man who learned the slang before he ever crossed the border
He learned all he knew from a four-track recorder
"Don't mourn her," he said
"Life should be four minutes or shorter," he sang
Bye bye miss American pie
Took a cab to the lab but it didn′t arrive
Shotgun blast, both hands to the sky
Singing this'll be the day that I...
Bye bye miss American pie
One time at band camp drove this Trans-Am, she could fly
Traded her for a foreign car kept in storage, parked
′Til the tires got deflated, no air like Jordin Sparks
Stripped and sold for parts like porn stars
That keep shades worn in the dark like Corey Hart
What's she got under the hood? Let's take a look-see
What′s going on in the hood? What′s good, B?
But what seems good ain't always good
Even what′s really good ain't all that it could be
I find the game too bush league
Their rhymes is lame, my mind′s the same as Hussein's foot speed
And that pushed me off the beaten trail
Like a runaway slave on some underground VIA rail
Cause we still feel them beats, but I don′t mean Pharrell
I mean we still feel them beats, we were beaten well
I mean look how we still scared to be ourselves
Can't speak out, and I don't mean that we need a cell
And by cell I don′t mean a jail, I mean hell
We locked up and these banks keep receiving bail
I don′t mean to speak this real but like damn
I don't mean to sound depressed but I am
The night the music died it slept with the fam
Put her breasts in his hands and said
"Never sing for less than a grand" (damn)
Bye bye miss American pie
Drove a block to that shop with the liquor inside
Singing ′Gin and Juice', drinking whiskey and rye
Singing this′ll be the day that I...
Bye bye miss American pie
Drove my Chevy to the levy, nope
Guess the levy broke
This'll be the day that I die
Guess you never know
Dropping acid rain from the sky at a deadly dose
The night the music died they played something beautiful
To drown out the rain and the refrain from the funeral
Look, Wayne′s in the studio and the Saints win the Superbowl
But it's a different crowd this time around in that Superdome
Storm's brewing, I can feel something′s not right
Writing old Prince lyrics, something ′bout pop life
Everybody needs a thrill, some entertainment
Some Richard Pryor, Usher Raymond, no blaming
All the products that are products
Made of pop cans and Pop Tarts and pop charts and All Stars
And doll parts and stock cars and Walmarts with shop carts
And ballparks with playoffs and day jobs with layoffs
The tune faded soft
The night the music died nobody investigated it
Just another one of us laying on the Vegas strip
They closed the casket and the case up quick
Guess they figured it was gang related and never gave a sh...
Bye bye miss American pie
If we've got good elections, oh ho
And we keep our confessions, oh ho
We got good connections, oh ho
We got good corrections, oh ho
America don′t need Jesus
The future is here
America don't need Jesus
The future is here
If we′ve got all the weapons, oh ho
Aimed in all directions, oh ho
We got good professions, oh ho
We got good elections, oh ho
America don't need Jesus
The future is here
America don′t need Jesus
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
Drove a block to that shop with the liquor inside
Singing ′Gin and Juice', drinking whiskey and rye
Thinking this′ll be the day that I...
The night the music died there were flashes of massive
Plane and stock crashes, flower baskets and caskets
AIG and B.I.G. and CIG and red ashes
From that burned down Baptist church where little black fists
Never got raised in the light of today's practice
Supposed post-blackness
The night the music died we burned all the classics
Onto one last disc of bright blue plastic
Johnny Cash hits and a rapper slash actress
More powerful than two Cleopatras
The night the music died, all so tragic
Then something else happened and we all got distracted
Something so dramatic for however long it lasted
We were saddened then ecstatic
Sang Michael then Imagine then...
Bye bye miss American pie
Miseducated by these terrible lies
Age 27 with a wink in her eye
Singing this'll be the day that I die
She cried "I′m bored"
We said "Yeah, you′re starting to bore us"
We've never gone this long without a chorus
The night the music died we expected a performance
We waited, the parade never came around our corners
The coroner′s report was a song by a foreigner
A man who learned the slang before he ever crossed the border
He learned all he knew from a four-track recorder
"Don't mourn her," he said
"Life should be four minutes or shorter," he sang
Bye bye miss American pie
Took a cab to the lab but it didn′t arrive
Shotgun blast, both hands to the sky
Singing this'll be the day that I...
Bye bye miss American pie
One time at band camp drove this Trans-Am, she could fly
Traded her for a foreign car kept in storage, parked
′Til the tires got deflated, no air like Jordin Sparks
Stripped and sold for parts like porn stars
That keep shades worn in the dark like Corey Hart
What's she got under the hood? Let's take a look-see
What′s going on in the hood? What′s good, B?
But what seems good ain't always good
Even what′s really good ain't all that it could be
I find the game too bush league
Their rhymes is lame, my mind′s the same as Hussein's foot speed
And that pushed me off the beaten trail
Like a runaway slave on some underground VIA rail
Cause we still feel them beats, but I don′t mean Pharrell
I mean we still feel them beats, we were beaten well
I mean look how we still scared to be ourselves
Can't speak out, and I don't mean that we need a cell
And by cell I don′t mean a jail, I mean hell
We locked up and these banks keep receiving bail
I don′t mean to speak this real but like damn
I don't mean to sound depressed but I am
The night the music died it slept with the fam
Put her breasts in his hands and said
"Never sing for less than a grand" (damn)
Bye bye miss American pie
Drove a block to that shop with the liquor inside
Singing ′Gin and Juice', drinking whiskey and rye
Singing this′ll be the day that I...
Bye bye miss American pie
Drove my Chevy to the levy, nope
Guess the levy broke
This'll be the day that I die
Guess you never know
Dropping acid rain from the sky at a deadly dose
The night the music died they played something beautiful
To drown out the rain and the refrain from the funeral
Look, Wayne′s in the studio and the Saints win the Superbowl
But it's a different crowd this time around in that Superdome
Storm's brewing, I can feel something′s not right
Writing old Prince lyrics, something ′bout pop life
Everybody needs a thrill, some entertainment
Some Richard Pryor, Usher Raymond, no blaming
All the products that are products
Made of pop cans and Pop Tarts and pop charts and All Stars
And doll parts and stock cars and Walmarts with shop carts
And ballparks with playoffs and day jobs with layoffs
The tune faded soft
The night the music died nobody investigated it
Just another one of us laying on the Vegas strip
They closed the casket and the case up quick
Guess they figured it was gang related and never gave a sh...
Bye bye miss American pie
If we've got good elections, oh ho
And we keep our confessions, oh ho
We got good connections, oh ho
We got good corrections, oh ho
America don′t need Jesus
The future is here
America don't need Jesus
The future is here
If we′ve got all the weapons, oh ho
Aimed in all directions, oh ho
We got good professions, oh ho
We got good elections, oh ho
America don't need Jesus
The future is here
America don′t need Jesus
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
The future is here
Writer(s): Anthony Mcintyre, Ian Koiter, Shadrach Kabango Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
