Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

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

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

The war it is all over,
The happy now,
And Lincoln arose,
Arose to make his

The people him wildly,
Arising to feet,
And Lincoln of his hand,
He calmly his seat.

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

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

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

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

The awakes from slumber,
And in her rage,
Booth 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 people all
cried everyone, "A hand!"
Cried all the near,
"For sake, save that man!"

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

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

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