Luyện nghe bài hát Birmingham Sunday

Come round by my and I'll sing you a song
I'll sing it so softly, do no one wrong
On Birmingham Sunday the blood ran like
And the choirs kept singing of

cold autumn morning no eyes saw the sun
And Mae Collins, her number was one
At an old Baptist there was no need to run
And the choirs kept of freedom

The clouds they were grey and the wind blew
And McNair brought the number to two
The falcon of death was a creature they
And the choirs kept of freedom

The church it was crowded, but no one see
That Cynthia Wesley's number was three
Her and her feelings would shame you and me
And the choirs singing of freedom

Young Robertson entered the door
And the number her killers had was four
She asked for a blessing but for no more
And the choirs kept singing of

On Birmingham Sunday a shook the ground
And people all over the turned around
For no one recalled a more sound
And the kept singing of freedom

The men in the forest they asked of me
How many black berries in the Blue Sea
I asked right back with a tear in my eye
How dark ships in the forest?

The has come and the Sunday has gone
And I can't do much more than to sing you a
sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong
And the choirs singing of freedom