Luyện nghe bài hát J C Cohen

+J. C.
Listen, all you children, to my sad refrain,
a subway conductor on a runaway train.
Squeezing into cars, he won his fame.
(yeah) And John Charles was the great man's name.
J. C. Cohen, a great conductor,
IRT, that's a line,
And if you travel uptown,
a greater conductor than Leonard Bernstein.
'Twas on a Sunday in the summer, and everywhere,
People to take a subway to the World's Fair.
A half a people tried to push and jar,
All of them to get in one car.
But the IRT on their finest men.
J. C. Cohen could pack a subway like a can.
He pushed the up and back and 'round about.
He squeezed so in, he squeezed the conductor out.
J. C. Cohen, a great 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 the engineer's place,
But when he look inside the cab he saw a strange face.
A half-pint with a full-pint bottle.
He out the bottle, and he yelled, "Full throttle!"
passed Columbus Circle 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 the city limits,
pays another fifteen cents."
J. C. said, "We're north, my friends,
But not a man alive knows where the ends."
The went under Albany at 90 flat,
And Rockefeller hollered, "What was that!?"
A lady to J. C. Cohen with indignation,
"If this is Albany, you have passed my station.
So either you should take me back to Street,
Or ask one of gentlemen to give me his seat."
J. C. Cohen, a great conductor,
J. C. noticed something odd.
When he saw on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a feeling beneath Cape Cod."
Oh well, the train kept to the north, my friends,
Finally came to the tunnel ends.
they came up to the surface from the long, long hole,
They 27 inches 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 fresh air, and they 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 in a Good Humor truck.
When they 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 husband, but he's no good frozen."
Then she to her little boy, and took his hand,
And she said, "I'm going to you out to Disneyland.
So Melvin, darling, don't you weep or wail,
'Cause you got another on the monorail."
(Got another on the monorail.)