Luyện nghe bài hát J C Cohen

+J. C.
Listen, all you children, to my sad refrain,
About a conductor on a runaway train.
Squeezing people cars, he won his fame.
(yeah) And John Charles was the great man's name.
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
IRT, that's a line,
And if you travel uptown,
He's a conductor than Leonard Bernstein.
on a Sunday in the summer, and from everywhere,
People planned to take a subway to the Fair.
A half a million people to push and jar,
All of them to get in one car.
But the IRT depended on their men.
J. C. Cohen could pack a subway like a can.
He the people up and back and 'round about.
He squeezed so many in, he the conductor out.
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
How moan, "Step to the rear."
J. C. Cohen, he had a problem,
On a train without an engineer.
J. C. tried to get the engineer's place,
But when he look the cab he saw a strange man's face.
A half-pint drunk with a bottle.
He out the bottle, and he yelled, "Full throttle!"
They passed Columbus Circle 82,
minutes later they were under Bronx Zoo.
J. C. shuddered, and he said, "I
This used to be a Local, but now an Express."
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
Kept his head when was tense.
He said, "When we pass the limits,
Everybody pays fifteen cents."
J. C. said, "We're north, my friends,
But not a man alive where the subway ends."
The train went Albany at 90 flat,
And Rockefeller hollered, "What was that!?"
A lady said to J. C. with indignation,
"If this is Albany, you have passed my station.
So you should take me back to Fifty-ninth Street,
Or ask one of these to give me his seat."
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
J. C. noticed something odd.
he saw lobsters on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a feeling we're beneath Cod."
Oh well, the train speeding to the north, my friends,
Finally came to the tunnel ends.
When came up to the surface from the long, long hole,
were 27 inches from the great North Pole.
J. C. hollered, "Everybody out!
This is the end of the line, the shadow of a doubt."
They went out to get some fresh air, and before took a whiff,
Cohen and all the were frozen stiff.
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
his soul, he ran out of luck.
J. C. Cohen, he was frozen,
And he had to be brought home in a Good truck.
When told Mrs. Cohen that she'd lost her man,
She said, "Must you interupt me when I'm Pan?"
she said to her partner, Mrs. R. J. Rosen,
"Cohen was a lovely husband, but he's no frozen."
Then she went to her little boy, and his hand,
And she said, "I'm to take you out to Disneyland.
So Melvin, little darling, you weep or wail,
you got another papa on the monorail."
(Got papa on the monorail.)