Luyện nghe bài hát Fireball Rolled A Seven

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

the makings of a honker and a roll of bailing wire
He tied his together and just set them tracks on fire
Three hundred fifty on the hood; a big 7 on door
In his heart a will to win and his 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 always lead the
rolled a seven and he won.

He took the 600, the old Atlanta 5
Bristol, Richmond, Nashville, Daytona for the
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 Petty; he was out in front 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 yellow bumper up and come apart.
A rookie and a shaker, runnin' and lost it all.
A hush fell on that crowd; 7 took the wall.

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