Luyện nghe bài hát Fireball Rolled A Seven

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

With the makings of a and a roll of bailing wire
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 gonna you make him run"
All he was ???? and always lead the rest
Fireball rolled a 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 pole at he won it off the rail.
And he run at Charlotte, 600 miles 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 shoot; only 3 laps from the start.
When he saw a bumper cross up and come apart.
A rookie and a shaker, runnin' 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 a friend he laid it on the line.
His old is rust and bound, but his memory still lives on.
Fireball rolled a seven time.
Fireball a seven every time.