| A | E | F#m7 | | A | long, | long | time ago, |
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| Bm | D | | I can still re | member how |
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| F#m | E | | that | music used to make me | smile. |
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| A | E | F#m7 | | And | I knew | if I | had my chance |
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| Bm | D | | that | I could make those | people dance |
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| F#m | D | E | | and | maybe they'd be | happy for a | while. |
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| F#m | Bm | | But | February | made me shiver, |
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| F#m | Bm | | with | every paper | I'd deliver. |
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| D | A/C# | Bm | | Bad news | on the | doorstep, |
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| D | E | | I | couldn't take | one more step. |
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| A | E | F#m | | I | can't re | member | if I cried |
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| Bm7 | E | | when I | read about his | widowed bride. |
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| A | E | F#m | | Something | touched me | deep inside, |
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| D | E7 | A | D/A | A | | the | day, the | music | died. | | So |
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| | | A | D | A | E | | | | Bye | bye, Miss A | merican | Pie. |
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| | | A | D | A | E | | | Drove my | chevy to the | levee but the | levee was | dry. |
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| | | A | D | A | E | | | Them | good ole' | boys were drinkin' | whiskey and | rye, |
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| | | F#m | B7 | | | singin': | This'll be the day that I | die, |
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| | | F#m | E7 | | | | this'll be the day that I | die. |
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| A | Bm | | Did you write the | book of love |
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| D | Bm | | and do | you have faith in | God above? |
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| F#m | E | | If the Bible | tells you so. |
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| A | E | F#m | | Now do | you be | lieve in | rock and roll? |
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| Bm7 | D | | Can | music save your | mortal soul? |
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| F#m | B7 | E | | And | can you teach me | how to dance real | slow? |
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| F#m | E | | Well, I | know that you're in | love with him, |
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| F#m | E | | 'cause I | saw you dancin' | in the gym, |
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| D | A/C# | B7 | | you | both kicked | off your | shoes, |
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| D | E7 | | man I | dig those rhythm and | blues. |
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| A | E | F#m | | I was a | lonely | teenage | broncin' buck |
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| Bm | D | | with a | pink carnation and a | pick up truck, |
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| A | E | F#m | | but | I knew | I was | out of luck |
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| D | E7 | A | D | A | E7 | A | | the | day, the | music, | died. | | I started | singing, | |
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| A | Bm | | Now | for the years we've been | on our own, |
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| D | Bm | | and | moss grows fat on a | rollin' stone |
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| F#m | E | | but | that's not how it | used to be. |
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| A | E | F#m | | When the | jester | sang for the | King and Queen |
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| Bm7 | D | | In a | coat he borrowed | from James Dean |
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| F#m | B7 | E | | and a | voice that came from | you and | me. |
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| F#m | E | | Oh and | while the King was | looking down, |
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| F#m | E | | the | jester stole his | thorny crown. |
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| D | A/C# | B7 | | The | courtroom | was a | djourned, |
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| D | E7 | | no | verdict was re | turned. |
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| A | E | F#m | | And while | Lennon | read a | book of Marx, |
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| Bm | D | | the | quartet practiced | in the park |
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| A | E | F#m | | and | we sang | dirges | in the dark |
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| D | E7 | A | D | A | E7 | | the | day, the | music | died. | | We vere | singin' |
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| A | Bm | | Helter-skelter in the | summer swelter, |
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| D | Bm | | the | birds flew off with a | fallout shelter. |
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| F#m | E | | Eight miles high and | fallin' fast. |
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| A | E | F#m | | It | landed | foul out | on the grass. |
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| Bm7 | D | | The | players tried for a | forward pass, |
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| F#m | B7 | E | | with the | jester on the | sidelines in a | cast. |
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| F#m | E | | Now the | halftime air was | sweet perfume, |
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| F#m | E | | while the | sergeants played a | marching tune. |
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| D | A/C# | B7 | | We | all got | up to | dance, |
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| D | E7 | | but we | never got the | chance. |
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| A | E | F#m | | 'Cause the | players | tried to | take the field, |
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| Bm | D | | the | marching band re | fused to yield. |
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| A | E | F#m | | Do | you re | call what | was revealed, |
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| D | E7 | A | D | A | E7 | | the | day, the | music, | died. | | We started | singin' |
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| A | Bm | | Oh, and | there we were all | in one place, |
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| D | Bm | | a | generation | lost in space |
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| F#m | E | | with | no time left to | start again. |
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| A | F#m | | So come on, | Jack be nimble, | Jack be quick, |
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| Bm7 | D | | Jack | Flash sat on a | candlestick, ´ |
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| F#m | B7 | E | | cause | fire is the | devil's only | friend. |
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| F#m | E | | Oh, and | as I watched him | on the stage |
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| F#m | E | | my | hands were clenched in | fists of rage. |
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| D | A | B7 | | No | angel | born in | hell, |
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| D | E7 | | could | break that Satan's | spell. |
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| A | E | F#m | | And as the | flames climbed | high in | to the night, |
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| Bm | D | | to | light the sacri | ficial rite |
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| A | E | F#m | | I saw | Satan | laughing | with delight |
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| D | E7 | A | D | A | E7 | | the | day, the | music, | died. | | He was | singin' |
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| A | E | F#m | | I | met a | girl who | sang the blues |
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| Bm | D | | and I | asked her for some | happy news, |
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| F#m | E | | but | she just smiled and | turned away. |
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| A | E | F#m | A | | I went | down to the | sacred | store |
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| Bm | A/C# | D | | where I | heard the | music | years before, |
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| F#m | D | E | | but the | man there said the | music wouldn't | play. |
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| F#m | Bm | | And | in the streets the | children screamed, |
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| F#m | Bm | | the | lovers cried and the | poets dreamed. |
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| D | A/C# | Bm | | But | not a | word was | spoken, |
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| D | E | | the | church bell all were | broken. |
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| A | E | F#m | A/C# | | And the | three men | I ad | mire | most, |
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| D | E7 | | the | Father, Son and the | Holy Ghost, |
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| A | E | F#m | | they | caught the | last train | for the coast, |
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| D | Bm7 | E7 | A | D | A | E7 | | the | day, | the | music, | died. | | And they were | singin' |
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| | | A | D | A | E | | | | Bye | bye, Miss A | merican | Pie, |
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| | | A | D | A | E | | | Drove my | chevy to the | levee but the | levee was | dry, |
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| | | A | D | A | E | | | Them | good ole' | boys were drinkin' | whiskey and | rye, |
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| | | D | E7 | A | D | A | | | singin': | This'll be the | day that I | die. | | |
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