Luyện nghe bài hát City Folks Call Us Poor

Moonlight on the grassy meadows,
like diamonds shining in the night,
Whipporwills in the white oaks,
Coon dogs barking in the moonlight.

Honeysuckle smells just sweet perfume,
Old dogs lying by the door,
Watermelon rhine puts up in a jar,
And the city folks, call us poor.

Rock of Ages on the front porch,
Watching light up and down again,
Listening to Bill Monroe on the Opry,
something bout his Uncle Penn.

God, He paints a in the evening sky,
Blue and purple, orange and of red,
He we cant afford no fancy paintings,
So we at the real thing instead.

Oh the folks, they call us poor.