Luyện nghe bài hát Peppers And Tomatoes

This year in my garden I peppers and tomatoes,
and tomatoes, they grow together well,
And my neighbours all around me they beans and potatoes
Cabbages and onions in village where we dwell.

And later in the we will bring wine to the table
Bring to the table, and reap what we have sown.
Like my father did before and his father did him
And his father did before him, we share what we have grown.

This little patch of dirt, little pile of stones.
I can wash the from off my face, and skin
But this is in my bones.

Military vehicles are through our village
Passing through our village with soldiers ill at ease.
and unshaven, distrustful and uncertain
Distrustful and uncertain, and all constantly.

And my neighbours say "Don't for you are one of us,
You are one of us and it not happen here",
But the night at the caf, when I bring wine to the table,
I bring wine to the table, but they are sitting drinking beer.

Last night the hand of friendship fell on my shoulders,
Heavy on my shoulders as I away to go.
As I goodnight some old men, some old men and young soldiers
Were humming and singing words to songs that I did not know.

Oh this little patch of dirt, and this pile of stones
I can wash the from off my face and skin,
But this is in my bones.

morning my wife told me that she'd been to church on Sunday,
Been to on Sunday, she had felt the need to pray.
Our children were there but it was just to please the old ones,
Just to please the old ones, and I don't know to say.

Tonight, as dark is falling, I am to my garden,
Tending to my garden, and the crop that I grown.
And my car is laden, and soon I'll start the engine,
Soon I'll start the engine, the children and be gone.

Oh this little patch of dirt, and this little of stones
I can wash the dust from off my face and
But this is in my bones.

My shotgun it is loaded, and hidden in the cabin,
hidden in the cabin, and the evening's growing chilled.
My mouth is dry, my hands are moist, and if someone to stop me,
Someone tries to me, I am ready now to kill.

Oh this patch of dirt, and this little pile of stones
I can wash the dust from off my face and
But this is in my bones.

I am my garden, when I smell the cigarette smoke,
the cigarette smoke, and I turn round in the dust
And I see the of rifles, but I cannot see the faces
But I recognise the that say, "You must come with us".