Luyện nghe bài hát East of Woodstock, West of Viet Nam

I through the Nineteen Sixties, I heard Dory Previn say
But me I caught me the white bird, to the shores of Africay
Where I lost my adolescent heart, to the sound of a talking
Yeah, of Woodstock, West of Vietnam

And on the roads outside Oshogbo, I fell down on my knees
There were spirits in old mud huts, iron bells ringing up in the trees
And an eighty-year-old white priest, she juju all night long
Yeah, East of Woodstock, of Vietnam

Raise the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah were coming through the rye
In the cinema I saw the man on the moon, I laughed so hard I
It was somewhere in those rainy seasons, I learned to carve my song
Yeah, of Woodstock, West of Vietnam

Oh Africa, Mother Africa, you lay heavy on my
You old cradle of civilization, heart of blood and death
we had to play you running scared, when the crocodile ate the sun
Yeah, East of Woodstock, of Vietnam

Well I think its going to rain tonight, I can smell it off the sea
As I sit here reading old Greene I taste Africa on every page
Then I close my eyes and see those red clay roads, and its and boys Im gone
Yeah, East of Woodstock, of Vietnam

Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah coming through the rye
It was a moveable feast of war and memory, a old lullaby
It was the smoke of a camp fires, it was the wrong end of a gun,
Yeah, of Woodstock, West of Vietnam.

Yeah, East of Woodstock, of Vietnam