Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

John Wilkes came to Washington,
An actor was he,
He played at Theater,
And Lincoln 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,
Arose to make his

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

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

From the box hangs a flag,
not the Stars and Bars,
The flag that within its folds
Bright stripes and stars.

John Booth he moves down 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 poor Lincoln in the temple,
And he sends his to rest.

The wife awakes 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,
When Booth stood in center stage,
Crying, "Tyrants not live!"

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

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

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

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