Luyện nghe bài hát Griselda

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

She snoops about the
For small supplies,
She breaks the little bits
Off rims of pies,
She pokes the
When Sunday done,
And if are two left in it
snitches one;
Cold and cold cauliflower
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?"
the stomach-ache starts and Griselda says:
"Oh!"

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

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