Luyện nghe bài hát Pastures of Plenty

Woody

It's a mighty hard road my poor hands have hoed. My poor feet have traveled a hot, dusty road.
Out of your dust bowls and westward we rode. Your were hot and your mountains were cold.
I've wandered all over this green growing land. your crops were, I've lent you my hands.
On the edge of your city you'll see me and then, I come with the and I go with the wind.

California, Arizona, I've worked all your crops. Then North up to Oregon to gather your hops.
Dig the beets from ground. Cut the grapes from your vines to set on your table that light sparkling wine.

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground from the Grand Coulee dam where the run down
Every state in the Union this migrant has been. I come with the dust and I go the wind.
It's always we ramble that and I all along your green valley, I'll work 'til I die.
And I'll travel this road until death sets me free for my pastures of must always be green.