Luyện nghe bài hát Fireball Rolled A Seven

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

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

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

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

He had the pole at he won it off the rail.
And he run at Charlotte, 600 miles 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.
he saw a yellow bumper cross up and come apart.
A and a shaker, runnin' scared and lost it all.
A hush fell on crowd; number 7 took the wall.

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