Luyện nghe bài hát Grande

When the moon carves a trail down the hills
And a ghost-wind hollers to the early
And the starlings return to the old sugar
their corn from the grower's field

Oh, I'll be no

When we've covered our in the bone-white clay
And we've shaken the from every boot and spur
We have counted our days in planks and
We have our spirits in the dancing halls

Oh, be no more

When a cold corner stage in the back of the
Holds a house band carrying an orphan
I would swing, I would sway, I would pull my
To the sad chorus on the overheads

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

to this day
I can the whistle blow
I can smell the sage
I may be as old and stubborn as a
But I am just as wild as the

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 rhythm and rhyme

Oh, be no more
Oh, be no more