Luyện nghe bài hát Peter The Cabby

Peter's a cabby on Adelaide
And in five o'clock that's a hard road to hoe
Hunts for his family in a Holden with a and meter
And no air conditioning where he plies his trade
On the green plate by the Rundle Arcade
Sits and he for the privilege of driving you home

And no Mr. Muzak in the front of his cab
a crackling voice dog-eared roadmap
And a and a biro sliding around on the dash
And your life's in his hand they're gripped on the wheel
The water pump rattles and the squeal
He's been driving for years sometimes it like forever

And knows very well your of gardens
He'll take you town drop you at Marsden
Peak hour: minutes, if you think that's easy just try it
He can change a tire in three minutes flat
Lubes his own car flat on his back
Tunes up his motor a timing light in his ear

Oh you could be at Woodville, you could be at
Sun may be burning, fog may be
But Peter's still driving all down endless white line
Could be the morning, or midnight
sell you a ride, his yellow roof light
Till a drag gives him a job to go home