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 Cohen was the man's name.
J. C. Cohen, a great 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 planned to take a subway to the Fair.
A half a 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 like a sardine can.
He pushed the people up and back and 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 without an engineer.
J. C. to get into 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!"
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, a great conductor,
his head when everyone was tense.
He said, "When we the city limits,
Everybody another 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 Rockefeller hollered, "What was that!?"
A lady to J. C. Cohen with indignation,
"If this is Albany, then you passed my station.
So either you take me back to Fifty-ninth Street,
Or ask one of gentlemen to give 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 beneath Cape Cod."
Oh well, the train speeding to the north, my friends,
Finally came to the tunnel ends.
When they 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 out to get some fresh air, and before 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 home in a Good truck.
When they told Mrs. Cohen she'd lost her man,
She said, "Must you interupt me when I'm Pan?"
Then she to her partner, Mrs. R. J. Rosen,
"Cohen was a husband, but he's no good frozen."
she went to her little boy, and took his hand,
And she said, "I'm going to you out to Disneyland.
So Melvin, little darling, don't you or wail,
'Cause you got papa on the monorail."
(Got another on the monorail.)