Luyện nghe bài hát Peppers And Tomatoes

This year in my garden I grow and tomatoes,
and tomatoes, they grow together 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 will bring wine to the
Bring to the table, and reap what we have sown.
Like my father did and his father did before him
And his father did before him, we share what we have grown.

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

Military vehicles are passing our village
Passing through our village with young ill at ease.
Unsmiling and unshaven, and uncertain
and uncertain, and all smoking 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 next night at the caf, when I wine to the table,
When I bring wine to the table, but they are drinking beer.

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

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

This morning my wife me that she'd been to church on Sunday,
Been to on Sunday, she had felt the need to pray.
Our children baptised there but it was just to please the old ones,
to please 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 heavy laden, and soon start the engine,
Soon start the engine, wake the children and be gone.

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

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

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

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