Luyện nghe bài hát Old Spur Line

The in the details,
And your into retail.
Your soul's alone in this world of stone, find
So can you do,
You wery Jew?
Well, every road leads to the South for ya this time.
Yeah, they all home.
But not the ramshackle tracks down Brigde Road.
Don't go pokin' down that crooked Old Spur
Yeah, ye not down the dirty rotten Old Spur Line.

Two railroads in a yellow wildwood.
It's raining meat, dents in your hood.
It's a coil of blackjack vines,
around the egdes hangs a red-soaked sky.
Dryrotted, woodentheet-like
Suckin' up the in the trenches down the side.
Don't ye go pokin' down crooked Old Spur Line.
Tread ye not down the dirty rotten Old Line.

Hear the greasy, greasy
on a bowesaw.
She says "Do as wilt shall be whole of my law."
Well, she her eyes.
And she her tees.
And she pokin' a stick, when you swinging in the breese.
Well, ya heard she said.
Ya got rocks in head?
And banjo's turned to f#DEAD.
Don't go down the crooked Old Spur Line.

See po' 'Rithmethic, the dog run.
He puts down three and he the one.
And Deacon paintin' pants on the thighs
Of the little pigs on a barbeque sign.
ain't right in the head down there.
Do a about face for ye best beware.
Tread ye not the crooked Old Spur Line.

Trek down the track and it's at own peril.
The fields are all fallow and the are all feral.
cows in the boughs of the Live Oak trees,
Left to rot when the water recedes.
No is made and the buildings tumble down.
And the thing that grows are the gullies all around.
Tread ye not down the dirty rotten Old Line.