Luyện nghe bài hát J C Cohen

+J. C.
Listen, all you children, to my sad refrain,
About a conductor on a runaway train.
people into cars, he won his fame.
(yeah) And John Charles was the great man's name.
J. C. Cohen, a great conductor,
IRT, that's a line,
And if you travel uptown,
He's a greater conductor than Bernstein.
on a Sunday in the summer, and from everywhere,
People planned to take a 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 a subway like a sardine can.
He pushed the up and back and 'round about.
He so many 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. to get into the engineer's place,
But when he look inside the cab he saw a man's face.
A half-pint drunk a full-pint bottle.
He out the bottle, and he yelled, "Full throttle!"
They passed Columbus Circle 82,
'Couple later they were under 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,
his head when everyone was tense.
He said, "When we pass the limits,
Everybody pays fifteen cents."
J. C. said, "We're north, my friends,
But not a man alive where the subway ends."
The train under Albany at 90 flat,
And Rockefeller hollered, "What was that!?"
A lady said to J. C. with indignation,
"If this is Albany, you have 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 something odd.
he saw lobsters on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a feeling we're Cape Cod."
Oh well, the train speeding to the north, my friends,
Finally to where the tunnel ends.
they 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 fresh air, and before took a whiff,
Cohen and all the passengers 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 in a Good Humor truck.
When they Mrs. Cohen that she'd lost her man,
She said, "Must you me when I'm playing Pan?"
she said to her partner, Mrs. R. J. Rosen,
"Cohen was a lovely husband, but he's no 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 another on the monorail."
(Got papa on the monorail.)