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 into 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 gotta uptown,
He's a 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 million tried to push and jar,
All of determined to get in one car.
But the IRT on their finest men.
J. C. Cohen pack a subway like a sardine can.
He the people up and back and 'round about.
He squeezed so many in, he 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 without an engineer.
J. C. tried to get into the place,
But when he look inside the cab he saw a strange face.
A half-pint drunk with a bottle.
He out the bottle, and he yelled, "Full throttle!"
They passed Columbus doing 82,
'Couple minutes they were 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 when was tense.
He said, "When we pass the limits,
Everybody another fifteen cents."
J. C. said, "We're north, my friends,
But not a man alive where the subway ends."
The went under Albany at 90 flat,
And Governor 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 these gentlemen to me his seat."
J. C. Cohen, a great conductor,
J. C. Cohen noticed odd.
When he saw on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a feeling we're Cape Cod."
Oh well, the train kept to the north, my friends,
Finally to where the tunnel ends.
they came up to the surface from the long, long hole,
They were 27 inches from the North Pole.
J. C. hollered, "Everybody out!
is the end of the line, beyond the shadow of a doubt."
They out to get some fresh air, and before they took a whiff,
Cohen and all the passengers frozen stiff.
J. C. Cohen, a great conductor,
his soul, he ran out of luck.
J. C. Cohen, he was frozen,
And he had to be home in a Good Humor truck.
they told Mrs. Cohen that she'd lost her man,
She said, "Must you interupt me I'm playing Pan?"
she said to her partner, Mrs. R. J. Rosen,
"Cohen was a lovely husband, but no good frozen."
Then she to her little boy, and took his hand,
And she said, "I'm to take you out to Disneyland.
So Melvin, little darling, you weep or wail,
'Cause you got another on the monorail."
(Got another on the monorail.)