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
man from Massachusetts
who died too much whiskey
and me these three faces to feed.

Millwork easy, millwork ain't hard.
Millwork, it ain't
but an awful, job.
I'm for a daydream
to me through the mornin';
Put me in my coffee
where I can a sandwhich and remember.

And it's me and my
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 smilin'
and me on his arm.

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

Yeah, but my life that's been wasted.
And I have the fool
to let this
use my for a tool.
As I ride home in the
I'm at my hands,
swearin' by my
that a young girl ought to a better chance.

Oh, but may I the mills
as long as I'm able,
and never the man
name is on the label.

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