Luyện nghe bài hát Fireball Rolled A Seven

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

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

His motto was a one "Stand on it and turn left.
If someone's gonna you make him run"
All he was ???? and always lead the rest
Fireball a seven and he won.

He the world 600, the old Atlanta 5
Bristol, Richmond, Nashville, Daytona for the
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 Petty; he was out in real fast.
A checkered flag was in the nobody would get past.

He was out in that back shoot; only 3 laps 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 fell on that crowd; 7 took the wall.

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