Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

John Wilkes Booth to Washington,
An great was he,
He at Ford's Theater,
And went to see.

It was in April,
Not weeks ago,
The of this fair city
All at the show.

The war it is all over,
The people now,
And Abraham arose,
to make his bow;

The cheer him wildly,
to their feet,
And Lincoln of his hand,
He calmly his seat.

And he sees the play go on,
His are running deep,
His wife, close by his side,
Has fast asleep.

From the box there a flag,
It's not the and Bars,
The flag that holds within its
gleaming stripes and stars.

John Wilkes Booth he moves the aisle,
He had once before,
He passes Lincoln's
at the door.

He holds a in his right hand,
A in his left,
He shoots poor in the temple,
And he his soul to rest.

The wife awakes slumber,
And in her rage,
jumps over the railing
And him on the stage.

rue the day, he'll rue the hour,
As God him shall give,
When stood in that center stage,
Crying, "Tyrants not live!"

The people all
Then everyone, "A hand!"
all the people near,
"For God's sake, that man!"

Then Booth ran with boot and spurs
Across the floor,
He mounts trusty clay bank mare,
All at the door.

John Wilkes Booth, in his play,
All dressed in deep,
He gallops the alleyway,
I hear those feet.

Poor then was heard to say,
And all has to rest,
"Of all the in this town,
I loved the best."