Luyện nghe bài hát Parish Of Dunkeld / Curlew

Oh, a parish, a terrible parish;
Oh, what a parish is o' Dunkeld.
hangit their minister, droon'd their precentor,
Dang doun the and fuddled the bell.

The steeple was doun but the was still staunin',
They biggit a lum whaur the bell to hang.
A they gat and they brewed Hielan' whisky;
On Sundays drank it and ranted and sang.

O, had you but how graceful it lookit,
To see the pews sae socially joined.
the piper stood up in the poopit,
He the pipes skirl out the music divine.

Wi' whiskey and beer they'd and they'd swear;
They'd and fecht what ye daurna weel tell.
Bout and Charlie they bothered fu' rarely
Wi' whisky they're than the devil himsel'.

When the spirit had mounted their garret,
Tae a on the green they a' did adjourn.
The maids wi' coats kilted, they and liltit,
When tired they shook hands and then did return.

If the a' owre Scotland held like social meetin's
Nae warnin' ye'd need a far-tinklin' bell,
For true love and friends wad draw ye
Far better than the horrors o' hell.