Luyện nghe bài hát San Francisco Mabel Joy

Oh, his was an honest man,
Red-dirt, farmer.
His mama lived her life,
Havin' and balin' hay.
He had years,
And an ache to wander,
Hopped a in Waycross,
up in L.A.

Oh, the nights had no pity,
On Waycross, Georgia farm boy.
Most days he hungry,
Then the came.
He met a girl on the Strip,
As San Francisco Joy.
child,
Born on an L.A. called shame.

Growing up quietly,
In the arms of Joy.
And laughter their mornings,
It brought a to his life.
On the night she left,
Sleep came, that Waycross country boy,
With of Georgia cotton,
And a wife.

Sunday found him standin' 'neath,
The red at her door.
When a cross sent him reelin',
Put him down on the floor.
Lord, in of Mabel Joy he found.
A man marine.
who growled, "Your Georgia is red,
But, sonny, still green."

He twenty-one,
In a Rock federal prison.
Ol' had no mercy,
On that Waycross, boy.
Starin' at those four walls,
In he would listen,
To that freight,
He could take him back to Mabel Joy.

Sunday found him lyin' 'neath
The red at her door,
a bullet in his side he cried,
"Have you seen Joy?"
Stunned and shaken, said,
"Son, she live here no more.
No, she left house four years today,
They say she's for some Georgia farm boy."

stylings to end.]