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 John Charles was the great man's name.
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
IRT, that's a 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 a subway to the World's Fair.
A half a million people 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 subway a sardine can.
He pushed the people up and and 'round about.
He squeezed so in, he squeezed the conductor out.
J. C. Cohen, what a conductor,
How moan, "Step to the rear."
J. C. Cohen, he had a problem,
On a train without an engineer.
J. C. tried to get the engineer's place,
But when he inside the cab he saw a strange man's face.
A half-pint drunk with a bottle.
He out the bottle, and he yelled, "Full throttle!"
They passed Columbus Circle 82,
'Couple minutes later they were Bronx Zoo.
J. C. shuddered, and he said, "I
This used to be a Local, but now an Express."
J. C. Cohen, a great conductor,
Kept his head everyone was tense.
He said, "When we the city limits,
Everybody pays another 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 passed my station.
So either you should me back to Fifty-ninth Street,
Or ask one of these to give me his seat."
J. C. Cohen, a great conductor,
J. C. Cohen 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,
came to where the tunnel ends.
When came up to the surface from the long, long hole,
They were 27 inches from the great Pole.
J. C. hollered, "Everybody out!
This is the end of the line, beyond the of a doubt."
They went out to get some fresh air, and before took a whiff,
Cohen and all the passengers were 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 in a Good Humor truck.
When they Mrs. Cohen that she'd lost her man,
She said, "Must you interupt me I'm playing Pan?"
Then she to her partner, Mrs. R. J. Rosen,
"Cohen was a lovely husband, but he's no frozen."
Then she 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.)