Luyện nghe bài hát Millworker

Now my was a sailor.
He in off the water.
My was a farmer
and I his daughter.

Took up a no good
millworking man from
who died from too whiskey
and leaves me these three to feed.

Millwork ain't easy, ain't hard.
Millwork, it nothin'
but an awful, job.
I'm waiting for a
to me through the mornin';
Put me in my break
I can have a sandwhich and remember.

And me and my machine
for the of the mornin',
for the of the afternoon,
for the of my life.

Now my mind begins to
to the days on the farm.
I can see my father
and me on his arm.

I can my granddad's stories
of the storms out on Erie,
where and cargos
and fortunes and lives were lost.

Yeah, but it's my that's been wasted.
And I have the fool
to let manufacture
use my for a tool.
As I ride in the evenin'
I'm at my hands,
by my sorrow
that a girl ought to stand a better chance.

Oh, but may I the mills
just as as I'm able,
and meet the man
who's is on the label.

Whoa, me and my machine
for the of the mornin',
for the of the afternoon,
for the rest of my . . . wasted.