Luyện nghe bài hát Peter The Cabby

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

And there's no Mr. Muzak in the of his cab
Just a voice dog-eared roadmap
And a torch and a biro around on the dash
And your life's in his hand they're gripped on the wheel
The pump 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: five minutes, if you think easy just try it
He can change a flat tire in three flat
Lubes his own car flat on his back
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 Peter's still driving all down endless white line
Could be the morning, or midnight
He'll sell you a ride, his roof light
Till a operator gives him a job to go home