Luyện nghe bài hát J C Cohen

+J. C.
Listen, all you children, to my sad refrain,
About a subway on a runaway train.
people into cars, he won his fame.
(yeah) And John Charles Cohen was the great name.
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
IRT, a subway line,
And if you travel uptown,
He's a greater conductor Leonard Bernstein.
on a Sunday in the summer, and from 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 on their finest men.
J. C. Cohen pack a subway like a sardine can.
He pushed the people up and and 'round about.
He squeezed so many in, he squeezed the 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. to get into the engineer's place,
But when he 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 Circle doing 82,
'Couple minutes later 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,
his head when 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 train went Albany at 90 flat,
And Rockefeller hollered, "What was that!?"
A lady said to J. C. Cohen indignation,
"If this is Albany, then you have 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, a great conductor,
J. C. noticed something odd.
he saw lobsters on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a we're beneath Cape Cod."
Oh well, the train kept to the north, my friends,
came to where the tunnel ends.
When 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 air, and before they took a whiff,
and all the passengers were 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 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 lovely husband, but no good 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, don't you or wail,
'Cause you got papa on the monorail."
(Got papa on the monorail.)