|
|
|
|
 | |  |
| Raining on the City of New Orleans, Katrina brings a Monday morning storm. | |
 | |  |
|
 |
| | |
| Those who can, they jam the outbound highways, Fifty thousand others try to stay dry and warm. | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| But the budget's rotten to the Corps, The levees, they can take no more, Waves of death into the city move. | |
| | |
|
|
| | |
| And on the poorer side of town, Old black men and women drown, While others wait for help upon their roof. | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| Good morning America, how are you? Don't you know me, I'm your place for fun. | |
| | |
|
|
| | |
| I'm the clogged drain called the City of New Orleans, I'll be sunk 80% when the day is done. | |
| | |
|
|
|
