Luyện nghe bài hát Sunday Morning Coming Down

Well, I up Sunday morning
With no way to my head that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast bad
So I had one for desert

I fumbled in my closet for my
And found my cleanest shirt
And I my face and combed my hair
down the stair to meet the day

Well, I'd smoke my brain the night
With cigarettes and songs, I'd been a
But I lit my first and watched the kid
Cussin' at a can he was kicking

Then I crossed the street and the Sunday
of someone fryin' chicken
And it took me to something
That I'd lost somewhere along the way

On the Sunday morning
Wishing that I was stoned
'Cause there's in a Sunday
Makes a body alone

And nothing sure to dying
That's half as lonesome as the
On the sleeping city
And morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy with, 'The laughin' little
he was swinging
And I stopped beside the Sunday
And listened to the songs were singing

Then I back for home
And somewhere far a lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed the canyons
Like the disappearing dreams of

On the Sunday morning
Lord that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a
Makes a body feel