Luyện nghe bài hát Pastures of Plenty

Woody

It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoed. My poor feet 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 growing land. Wherever your crops were, I've lent you my hands.
On the edge of city you'll see me and then, I come with the dust and I go with the wind.

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

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