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O, below is Farmer Tom, toiling at his till
That before his father gave to him against his will
As Baron Greenâs wagon disappears into the night
Yearning for his easel, Tom turns unto to his wife
and says
Donât you ever think we could be the same?
If Iâd been born like him, I could have acclaim!
âCause
Money has the poor man crowned
Money makes the world go round and round and
Money does my life confound
Money makes the world go âround and âround and âround
Accompanied by avarice, Green grasps to understand
Superficiality, the women of his land
Fancying a farmerâs wife, in barren fields below
Watching out his window, whispers sad and soft and low
Donât you ever think we could be the same?
If Iâd been born like him, she could speak my nameâ¦
Money has the poor man crowned
Money makes the world go round and round and
Money does my life confound
Money makes the world go âround and âround and âround
Money has the poor man crowned
Money makes the world go round and round and
Money does my life confound
Money makes the world go âround and âround and âround
And Round
And Round
And Round
And Round
- Album:
- Conflagrations