Luyện nghe bài hát Peter The Cabby

Peter's a cabby on roads
And in five 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 where he plies his
On the green stand by the Rundle Arcade
and he waits for the privilege of driving you home

And there's no Mr. in the front of his cab
Just a crackling voice roadmap
And a torch and a biro sliding around on the
And life's in his hand when they're gripped on the wheel
The water rattles and the Michelins squeal
been driving for years sometimes it feels like forever

And knows well your city of gardens
He'll take you from town 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 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 driving all down that endless white line
Could be the morning, or midnight
He'll sell you a ride, his yellow light
Till a drag operator him a job to go home