Luyện nghe bài hát Fireball Rolled A Seven

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

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

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

He the world 600, the old Atlanta 5
Bristol, Richmond, Nashville, for the ride
The hotdogs 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 he was out in front real fast.
A flag was in the bag; nobody would get past.

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

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