Oh, I pity the poor immigrant Who wishes he'd stayed home Who uses all his power to do evil But in the end is always left so alone That man whom with his fingers cheats Who lies with every breath Who passionately hates his life And likewise, fears his death
Oh, I pity the poor immigrant Whose strength is spent in vain Whose heaven is like Ironsides Whose tears are like rain Who eats but is not satisfied Who hears but does not see Who falls in love with wealth itself And turns his back on me
Oh, I pity the poor immigrant Who tramples through the mud Who fills his mouth with laughing And who builds his town with blood Whose visions in the final end Must shatter like the glass I pity the poor immigrant When his gladness comes to passTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
