Luyện nghe bài hát Old Spur Line

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

Two diverged in a yellow wildwood.
It's meat, poppin' 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 muck in the trenches the side.
Don't ye go pokin' down that Old Spur Line.
Tread ye not down the rotten Old Spur Line.

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

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

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