Luyện nghe bài hát Fireball Rolled A Seven

Somewhere in South near a dirt track there's a shrine
Erected to the memory of a little 'ole friend of
A natural dirt dauber, car racing was his game
He rolled number 7 Fireball was his name

the makings of a honker and a roll of bailing wire
He his hopes together and just set them tracks on fire
Three hundred fifty on the hood; a big 7 on door
In his a will to win and his right foot on the floor

His motto was a simple one "Stand on it and left.
If someone's gonna you make him run"
All he knew was ???? and always lead the
Fireball a seven and he won.

He took the 600, the old Atlanta 5
Bristol, Richmond, Nashville, Daytona for the
The laid it on him. They'd draft, chart, and sweat.
But rolled a seven, the kind that's hard to get.

He had the pole at he won it off the rail.
And he run away at Charlotte, 600 of Hell.
A slingshot sewed up Petty; he was out in front fast.
A checkered flag was in the bag; would get past.

He was flat out in that shoot; only 3 laps from the start.
When he saw a yellow bumper cross up and apart.
A rookie and a shaker, scared and lost it all.
A hush fell on that number 7 took the wall.

His old skidlid hangs in the hall, the chargers gone,
To save a friend he it on the line.
His old poncho is and bound, but his memory still lives on.
Fireball a seven every time.
Fireball rolled a seven time.