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
Hunts for his in a Holden with a two-way and meter
And there's no air conditioning he plies his trade
On the plate stand by the Rundle Arcade
Sits and he waits for the privilege of you home

And there's no Mr. in the front of his cab
Just a crackling 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 water pump and the Michelins squeal
He's been driving for years sometimes it feels like

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

Oh you be at Woodville, you could be at Stirling
Sun may be burning, fog may be
But Peter's still driving all down that endless white
be the morning, midday or midnight
He'll sell you a ride, his yellow roof
Till a drag operator gives him a job to go