Luyện nghe bài hát Peter The Cabby

Peter's a cabby on Adelaide
And in five o'clock traffic that's a road to hoe
for his family in a Holden with a two-way and meter
And there's no air conditioning where he plies his
On the plate stand by the Rundle Arcade
Sits and he waits for the of driving you home

And no Mr. Muzak in the front of his cab
Just a crackling voice roadmap
And a torch and a biro sliding on the dash
And your life's in his hand when gripped on the wheel
The water pump and the Michelins squeal
He's been driving for sometimes it feels like forever

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

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