Luyện nghe bài hát Peter The Cabby

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

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

And knows very your city of gardens
He'll take you from drop you at Marsden
Peak hour: five minutes, if you that's easy just try it
He can change a flat tire in three minutes
Lubes his own car lying flat on his
Tunes up his with 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 that endless white line
be the morning, midday or midnight
He'll sell you a ride, his roof light
Till a drag operator him a job to go home