Luyện nghe bài hát San Francisco Mabel Joy

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

Oh, the nights had no pity,
On that Waycross, farm boy.
Most he went hungry,
the summer 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, left that country boy,
With of Georgia cotton,
And a wife.

Sunday mornin' him standin' 'neath,
The red at her door.
a right cross sent him reelin',
Put him down on the floor.
Lord, in place of Joy he found.
A man marine.
who growled, "Your neck is red,
But, sonny, you're green."

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

Sunday mornin' found him 'neath
The red at her door,
with a bullet in his he cried,
"Have you Mabel Joy?"
and shaken, someone said,
"Son, she don't live no more.
No, she left this house years today,
They say she's looking for some farm boy."

stylings to end.]