Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

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

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

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

The people him wildly,
to their feet,
And waving of his hand,
He takes his seat.

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

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

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

He a dagger in his right hand,
A in his left,
He shoots Lincoln in the temple,
And he sends his to rest.

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

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

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

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

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

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