Luyện nghe bài hát Grande

When the moon carves a down the pine-bearded hills
And a hollers to the early morn
And the starlings to the old sugar mill
Stealing their corn from the grower's

Oh, I'll be no

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

Oh, I'll be no

When a cold corner stage in the of the room
a house band carrying an orphan tune
I swing, I would sway, I would pull my hips
To the sad playing on the overheads

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

Still to day
I can hear the whistle
I can smell the burn
I may be as old and as a pine
But I am just as as the young

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

Oh, be no more
Oh, be no more