Luyện nghe bài hát Bitter Withy

BITTER
As it out on a high holiday
Small from the sky did fall
Jesus asked of his own mother dear
Whether he play at ball
To play, to play, child she did say
time that you have been gone
And don't let me hear complaints you
At when you do come home
Now our Savior walked down into town
As far as the holy, holy
And there he met three of the finest
That ever any tongue could
Good morn, good morn, good morn, they
Good morning, then said he, he
Now which of you three children
Will at ball with me
Oh we are lords and sons
Born in a bowery
And you are but a maiden's
Born in an oxen
Now our built a bridge with the beams of the sun
and over the ran he, ran he
And the three jolly children followed him
And drowned were all three
The upward ball and the downward
Their mothers they did and squall
Saying, Mary mild, fetch home your
For are drownded all
Then Mary mild picked a of withies
And laid our dear savior her knee
And with handful of withy twigs
She gave him three
Oh cursed be to the bitter
That has caused me to smart, to
And that be the very first tree
That shall perish at the heart
recorded by MaColl & Lloyd- English & Ballads; Roberts &
Barrand - Sing We Clear
BITWITHY
play.exe
SF
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