Luyện nghe bài hát Peppers And Tomatoes

This year in my garden I grow and tomatoes,
Peppers and tomatoes, they together well,
And my neighbours all me they grow beans and potatoes
Cabbages and onions in this village 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 did before and his father did before 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 from off my face, and skin
But this is in my bones.

Military vehicles are passing through our
through our village with young soldiers ill at ease.
Unsmiling and unshaven, 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 will not here",
But the next night at the caf, when I bring to the table,
When I bring wine to the table, but are sitting drinking beer.

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

Oh this little patch of dirt, and this little of stones
I can wash the 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 know what to say.

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

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

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