Luyện nghe bài hát Peppers And Tomatoes

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

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

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

Military vehicles are passing through our
Passing through our village young soldiers ill at ease.
Unsmiling and unshaven, distrustful and
and uncertain, and all smoking constantly.

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

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

Oh little patch of dirt, and this little 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 church on Sunday, she had felt the to pray.
Our children were baptised there but it was to please the old ones,
Just to the old ones, and I don't know what to say.

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

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.

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 to stop me, I am ready now to kill.

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

I am watering my garden, when I smell the smoke,
the cigarette smoke, and I turn round in the dust
And I see the glint of rifles, but I see the faces
But I recognise the voices that say, "You must come us".