Luyện nghe bài hát Orphans of wealth

There is no to discuss or debate
What is right, is wrong for our people
Time has run out for all who wait
bent limbs and minds that are feeble

And the falls and blows through their window
And the snow falls and blows their door
And the seasons revolve mid their sounds of
When the rise, they cover the floor

They come from the north and they from the south
And they come the hills and the valleys
And migrants and farmers and miners and humans
Our census neglected to

And the rain falls and through their window
And the rain falls and it blows through door
And the seasons revolve mid their sounds of
When the rise, they cover the floor

And African, Mexican, Caucasian, Indian
Hungry and Americans
The of wealth and of adequate health
by this nation they live in

And with worn hands on bread lines they stand
Yet but one more
And treated like tramps while we sell them food stamps
This thriving and nation

And the rain falls and blows through their
And the snow falls and through their door
And the seasons revolve mid sounds of starvation
When the rise, they cover the floor

And roaches and rickets and rats in the thickets
Infested, diseased and
With rags and no and skin sores that ooze
By the pools, they are playing

In shacks of two rooms that are rotting tombs
With corpses inside them
And we pity their as they call in the night
And we do all we can do to hide them

And the rain falls and blows through window
And the snow in white drifts that fold
And the tides rise with in the nursery
And a child is crying, he's and cold

His has been sold, his young face looks old
It's the face of America,