Luyện nghe bài hát Ballad Of Basphemous Bill

I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill
Whenever wherever or the manner of death he die
Whether he die in the light o' day or under the moon
In cabin or dance-hall camp or mucklucks or patent shoon

On velvet tundra or peak by glacier drift or draw
In muskeg hollow or canyon gloom by fang or claw
By battle or sudden wealth by pestilence hooch or lead
I swore on the Book I would follow and look till I found my tombless

For Bill was a dainty kind of cuss and his was mighty sot
On a dinky patch with flowers and grass in a boneyard lot
And where he died or how he died it didn't matter a
So long as he had a grave with frills and a epigram

So I promised him and he paid the in good cheechako coin
the same I blowed in that very night down in the Tenderloin
Then I painted a three-foot slab of pine here lies poor MacKie
And I hung it up on my wall and waited for Bill to die

Years passed away and at one day came a squaw with a story strange
Of a long-deserted line of traps way back of the Bighorn
Of a little hut by the divide and a white man stiff and still
Lying there by his lonesome self and I it must be Bill

So I thought of the contract I'd made with him and I took down the shelf
The swell box with the silver plate he'd picked out for hisself
And I packed it full of grub and hooch and I slung it on the
Then I up my team of dogs and was off at dawn of day

You know what it's like in the wild when it's sixty-nine below
When the ice-worms wriggle their purple through the crust of the pale blue snow
When the pine trees crack like guns in the silence of the wood
And the icicles hang down like tusks the parka hood

When the smoke breaks sudden off and the sky is weirdly lit
And the careless feel of a bit of burns like a red-hot spit
When the mercury is a frozen ball and the stalks to kill
Well it was just that that day when I set out to look for Bill

Oh the awful hush that seemed to crush me down on hand
As I blundered blind with a trail to find through that blank and bitter
Half dazed half crazed in the winter wild with its grim woes
And the ruthless strife for a grip on life that only the sourdough

by the compass North I pressed river and peak and plain
Passed like a dream I slept to and I waked to dream again
River and plain and mighty peak and who could unawed
As their summits blazed he could stand undazed at the of the throne of God

North aye North through a land shunned by the scouring brutes
And all I heard was my own harsh word and the of the malamutes
Till at last I came to a cabin squat built in the side of a
And I burst in the door and there on the frozen to death lay Bill

Ice white ice a winding-sheet sheathing each smoke-grimed wall
Ice on the stove-pipe ice on the bed ice over all
Sparkling ice on the dead man's chest ice in his hair
Ice on his fingers ice in his ice in his glassy stare

Hard as a log and trussed like a frog with his arms and legs
I gazed at the I'd brought for him and I gazed at the gruesome dead
And at last I spoke Bill his joke but still goldarn his eyes
A man had ought to consider his in the way he goes and dies

Have you ever stood in an Arctic hut in the shadow of the
With a little coffin six by three and a grief you can't
Have you sat by a frozen corpse that looks at you with a grin
And that to say you may try all day but you'll never jam me in

I'm not a man of the quitting but I never felt so blue
As I sat there gazing at that stiff and studying I'd do
Then I rose and I off the husky dogs that were nosing round about
And I lit a roaring fire in the and I started to thaw Bill out

Well I thawed and I thawed for thirteen days but it didn't no good
His arms and his stuck out like pegs as if they were made of wood
at last I said it ain't no use he's froze too hard to thaw
He's obstinate and he lie straight so I guess I got to saw

So I sawed off poor Bill's and legs and I laid him snug and straight
In the little coffin he picked hisself with the dinky plate
And I came nigh near to shedding a tear as I nailed him down
Then I stowed him away in my Yukon sleigh and I back to town

So I buried him as the was in a narrow grave and deep
And there he's waiting the Great when the the Judgment sluice-heads sweep
And I smoke my pipe and I in the light of the Midnight Sun
And I wonder if they was the awful things I done

And as I sit and the parson talks of the Law
I think of poor old Bill and how hard he was to saw