Luyện nghe bài hát Peter The Cabby

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

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

And knows very well your of gardens
He'll take you from town you at Marsden
Peak hour: five minutes, if you think that's easy try it
He can change a flat tire in minutes flat
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 down endless white line
Could be the morning, or midnight
He'll you a ride, his yellow roof light
Till a operator gives him a job to go home