Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

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

It was in April,
Not many ago,
The people of this 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,
Arising to feet,
And Lincoln of his hand,
He calmly his seat.

And while he the play go on,
His are running deep,
His darling wife, by his side,
Has fallen asleep.

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

Wilkes Booth he moves down the aisle,
He had measured 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,
Booth over the railing
And him on the stage.

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

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

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

Wilkes Booth, in his last play,
All in broadcloth deep,
He gallops the alleyway,
I those horses feet.

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