A long, long time ago, I can still remember how the music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance, and maybe they'd be happy for a while. But February made me shiver with every paper I'd deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step. I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride, but something touched me deep inside the day the music died. So bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing, This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. Did you write the book of love, and do you have faith in God above, if the Bible tells you so? Oh, do you believe in rock and roll? Can music save your moral soul? And can you teach me how to dance real slow? Well, I know that you're in love with him, cause I saw you dancing in the gym. You both kicked off your shoes, and I dig those rhythmy blues. I was a lonely teenage rocking buck with a pig carnation and a pickup truck, but I knew I was out of luck the day the music died. So bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing, This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. Now for ten years we've been on our own, and mom's grows fat on a rolling stone, but that's not how it used to be. When the jester sang for the king and queen in a code, he borrowed from James Dean and a voice that came from you and me. Oh, and while the king was looking down, the jester stole his thorny crown. The courtroom was adjourned. No verdict was returned. And while Lennon read a book on Marx, the quartet practiced in the park, and we sang dirges in the dark the day the music died. And we 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 and rye, singing, This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. I met a girl who sang the blues, and I asked her for some happy news, but she just smiled and turned away. I went down to the Sacred Store where I'd heard the music years before, but the man there said the music wouldn't play. And in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed, but not a word was spoken. The church bells all were broken. And the three men I admire most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, they caught the last train for the coast the day the music died. And 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 and rye, singing, This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die.