Luyện nghe bài hát Griselda

Griselda is greedy, I'm to say.
She isn't contented four meals a day,
Like breakfast and dinner and and tea
(I've had to put tea supper-you see
Why, you?)
is greedy as greedy can be.

She about the larder
For sundry supplies,
She the little crusty bits
Off of apple pies,
She the roast-potato-dish
When Sunday done,
And if are two left in it
snitches one;
Cold chicken and cold
She pulls in chunks-
And when calls:
"What are you there?"
bunks.

Griselda is greedy. Well, how she feels,
She can't help eating in-between meals,
And always forgets what leading to, though
The Doctor has frequently told her: "You
Why, you?"
When the stomach-ache starts and says:
"Oh!"

She slips to the dining-room
When in bed,
For on the supper-tray,
And buttered of bread,
A biscuit the biscuit-box,
Lump from the bowl,
A gherkin the pickle-jar,
Are all toll;
She the salted almonds,
And she tries the fruits-
And Dad shouts:
"Who is it below?"
scoots.

Griselda is greedy. Her scold,
And tell her how sorry she'll be she's old,
She will lose her complexion, she's sure to fat,
She will spoil her inside-does she know what she's
(Why do they?)
Some people are greedy. it at that.