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 people cars, he won his fame.
(yeah) And John Cohen was the great man's name.
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
IRT, that's a line,
And if you travel uptown,
He's a greater than Leonard Bernstein.
'Twas on a Sunday in the summer, and everywhere,
planned 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 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 the cab he saw a strange man's 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 later were under Bronx Zoo.
J. C. shuddered, and he said, "I
This 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 where the subway 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 have my station.
So you should take me back to Fifty-ninth Street,
Or ask one of these gentlemen to me his seat."
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
J. C. Cohen something odd.
When he saw on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a we're beneath Cape Cod."
Oh well, the kept speeding to the north, my friends,
Finally came to where the ends.
When they up to the surface from the long, long hole,
They were 27 inches from the North Pole.
J. C. hollered, "Everybody out!
This is the end of the line, beyond the of a doubt."
They went out to get fresh 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 Humor truck.
When they Mrs. Cohen that she'd lost her man,
She said, "Must you me when I'm playing Pan?"
Then she to her partner, Mrs. R. J. Rosen,
"Cohen was a lovely husband, but no good frozen."
she went 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 papa on the monorail."
(Got another on the monorail.)