Luyện nghe bài hát City Folks Call Us Poor

Moonlight shining on the meadows,
Looks like shining in the night,
singing in the white oaks,
Coon dogs in the bright moonlight.

Honeysuckle smells just like perfume,
Old lying over by the door,
Watermelon Mama puts up in a jar,
And the folks, they call us poor.

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

God, He paints a picture in the sky,
Blue and purple, and shades of red,
He knows we afford no fancy paintings,
So we look at the thing instead.

Oh the folks, they call us poor.