Luyện nghe bài hát Grande

When the moon carves a trail the pine-bearded hills
And a ghost-wind to the early morn
And the starlings return to the old mill
Stealing their from the grower's field

Oh, I'll be no

we've covered our hands in the bone-white clay
And we've the dust from every boot and spur
We have counted our in planks and rails
We have kept our spirits in the halls

Oh, I'll be no

a cold corner stage in the back of the room
Holds a house carrying an orphan tune
I would swing, I would sway, I would my hips
To the sad chorus playing on the

Oh, I'll be no
Oh, be no more

Still to day
I can the whistle blow
I can the sage burn
I may be as old and as a pine
But I am just as wild as the

When a ribbon is curved round the blue-shadowed
And the hot steel is down the Union Line
Whip-thin, hickory-black,
Our sad-faced into rhythm and rhyme

Oh, be no more
Oh, be no more