Luyện nghe bài hát Fireball Rolled A Seven

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

With the makings of a honker and a roll of bailing
He tied his hopes together and just set them on fire
Three hundred fifty on the a big 7 on each door
In his heart a to win and his right foot 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 lead the rest
rolled a seven and he won.

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

He had the at Darlington; he won it off the rail.
And he run at Charlotte, 600 miles of Hell.
A sewed up Petty; 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 yellow cross up and come apart.
A rookie and a shaker, runnin' and lost it all.
A hush on that crowd; number 7 took the wall.

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