Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

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

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

The war it is all over,
The happy now,
And Abraham arose,
Arose to his bow;

The cheer him wildly,
Arising to feet,
And Lincoln of his hand,
He takes his seat.

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

the box there hangs a flag,
It's not the and Bars,
The flag holds within its folds
Bright gleaming and stars.

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

He holds a dagger in his 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,
Booth jumps the railing
And him on the stage.

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

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

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

John Booth, in his last play,
All in broadcloth deep,
He down the alleyway,
I hear horses feet.

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