https:/ [bad word] my.little.brony

As the snow flies,
On a cold and gray cumulus mornin,
Another little filly pony's born,
Up in Cloudsdale.
(Up in Cloudsdale)

And her momma cries.
Cuz her and her mate live week to week,
And they can barely fill their own needs.
Up in Cloudsdale.
(Up in Cloudsdale)

Ponies you don't understand,
The problem they have at hand.
When you live in Cloudsdale you have one part to play.
She'll never get the chance to be,
Really [bad word] free.
She'll be forced, to learn to work,
At the weather, factory.

And the clouds roll on,

There's a filly on the street who can barely fly,
and a cold winds blows as she starts to cry,
Up in Cloudsdale.
(Up in Cloudsdale)

She, for her talent yearns.

So she practices hard all day and night,
And she learns all the tricks,
To acrobatic flight,
Up in Cloudsdale.
(Up in Cloudsdale).

Then one night to Celestia, 
She swore to great some day.
She flew away, she found a home,
She plans to be a Wonderbolt.
And her mama cries.

And though she tried all that she could try,
Her child joins more orphan pegasi.
Up in Cloudsdale.
(Up in Cloudsdale)

And as as her momma dies,

On a cold and gray cumulus mornin,
little orange pegasus foal is born.
Up in Cloudsdale.
(Up in Cloudsdale)

And her momma cries.
(Up in Cloudsdale)
(Up in Cloudsdale)