Luyện nghe bài hát Peppers And Tomatoes

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

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

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

Military are passing through our village
Passing through our village young soldiers ill at ease.
Unsmiling and unshaven, distrustful and
Distrustful and uncertain, and all 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 bring to the table,
When I bring 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 tunes and singing words to songs that I did not know.

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

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

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

Oh little patch of dirt, and this little pile of stones
I can the dust from off my face and skin
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 tries to me,
Someone 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 earth is in my bones.

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