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 people cars, he won his fame.
(yeah) And John Cohen was the great man's name.
J. C. Cohen, a great conductor,
IRT, a subway line,
And if you travel uptown,
He's a greater conductor 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 depended on finest men.
J. C. Cohen could pack a subway a sardine can.
He pushed the up and back and 'round about.
He squeezed so many in, he squeezed the out.
J. C. Cohen, what a 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 into the place,
But when he look inside the cab he saw a man's face.
A drunk with a full-pint bottle.
He out the bottle, and he yelled, "Full throttle!"
They passed Columbus Circle 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 pass the limits,
Everybody another fifteen cents."
J. C. said, "We're north, my friends,
But not a man knows where the subway ends."
The train under Albany at 90 flat,
And Governor hollered, "What was that!?"
A lady to J. C. Cohen with indignation,
"If is Albany, then you have passed my station.
So either you 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 noticed odd.
When he saw on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a feeling beneath Cape Cod."
Oh well, the kept speeding to the north, my friends,
came to where the tunnel ends.
When they came up to the surface the long, long hole,
They were 27 inches 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 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 in a Good Humor truck.
they told 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."
Then she to her little boy, and took his hand,
And she said, "I'm to take you out to Disneyland.
So Melvin, darling, don't you weep or wail,
'Cause you got papa on the monorail."
(Got papa on the monorail.)