Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

John Booth came to Washington,
An great 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 Abraham arose,
Arose to his bow;

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

And he sees 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 holds its folds
Bright gleaming and stars.

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

The wife from slumber,
And in her rage,
jumps over 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 people all
cried 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 trusty clay bank mare,
All at the door.

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

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