Luyện nghe bài hát J C Cohen

+J. C.
Listen, all you children, to my sad refrain,
About a subway conductor on a train.
Squeezing people cars, he won his fame.
(yeah) And Charles Cohen was the great man's name.
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
IRT, a subway line,
And if you travel uptown,
a greater conductor than Leonard Bernstein.
'Twas on a Sunday in the summer, and everywhere,
planned to take a subway to the World's Fair.
A a million people tried to push and jar,
All of determined to get in one car.
But the IRT depended on finest 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 subway train an engineer.
J. C. tried to get into the place,
But he look inside the cab he saw a strange man's face.
A half-pint drunk a full-pint bottle.
He out the bottle, and he yelled, "Full throttle!"
They passed Columbus doing 82,
'Couple minutes later they under Bronx Zoo.
J. C. shuddered, and he said, "I
used to be a Local, but it's now an Express."
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
Kept his head everyone 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 knows where the ends."
The train went Albany at 90 flat,
And Governor hollered, "What was that!?"
A lady to J. C. Cohen with indignation,
"If this is Albany, then you passed my station.
So either you should take me to Fifty-ninth Street,
Or ask one of these gentlemen to me his seat."
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
J. C. Cohen noticed odd.
he saw lobsters on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a feeling beneath Cape Cod."
Oh well, the kept speeding to the north, my friends,
Finally came to the tunnel ends.
When they came up to the surface the long, long hole,
They were 27 from the great North Pole.
J. C. hollered, "Everybody out!
is the end of the line, beyond the shadow of a doubt."
They went out to get some air, and before they took a whiff,
Cohen and all the passengers 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 Humor truck.
When they told Mrs. that she'd lost her man,
She said, "Must you interupt me I'm playing Pan?"
Then she to her partner, Mrs. R. J. Rosen,
"Cohen was a lovely husband, but no good frozen."
Then she went to her boy, and took his hand,
And she said, "I'm going to you out to Disneyland.
So Melvin, little darling, you weep or wail,
'Cause you got papa on the monorail."
(Got papa on the monorail.)