Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill

I took a contract to bury the of blasphemous Bill MacKie,
Whenever, wherever or whatsoever the manner of he die
he die in the light o' day or under the peak-faced moon;
In cabin or dance-hall, camp or dive, mucklucks or shoon;
On velvet tundra or virgin peak, by glacier, drift or
In muskeg hollow or gloom, by avalanche, fang or claw;
By battle, murder or sudden wealth, by pestilence, hooch or
I on the Book I would follow and look till I found my tombless dead.

For was a dainty kind of cuss, and his mind was mighty sot
On a dinky with flowers and grass in a civilized bone-yard lot.
And where he died or how he died, it didn't matter a
So long as he had a grave with and a tombstone "epigram".
So I promised him, and he paid the in good cheechako coin
(Which the same I blowed in that very night in the Tenderloin).
Then I painted a three-foot slab of pine: "Here lies Bill MacKie",
And I hung it up on my cabin wall and I waited for to die.

Years passed away, and at last one day came a squaw with a strange,
Of a line of traps 'way back of the Bighorn range;
Of a hut by the great divide, and a white man stiff and still,
Lying there by his lonesome self, and I figured it be Bill.
So I of the contract I'd made with him, and I took down from the shelf
The swell black box with the plate he'd picked out for hisself;
And I packed it full of and "hooch", and I slung it on the sleigh;
I harnessed up my team of dogs and was off at dawn of day.

You know what it's like in the Yukon wild when sixty-nine below;
When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads through the crust of the pale blue
When the pine-trees crack like little guns in the of the wood,
And the icicles hang down like tusks under the hood;
the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off, and the sky is weirdly lit,
And the careless feel of a bit of steel burns like a spit;
When the mercury is a frozen ball, and the frost-fiend to kill
Well, it was like that that day when I set out to look for Bill.

Oh, the awful hush that seemed to crush me on every hand,
As I blundered blind with a trail to find through blank and bitter land;
Half dazed, half crazed in the winter wild, with its grim woes,
And the ruthless strife for a grip on life only the sourdough knows!
North by the compass, North I pressed; river and peak and
Passed like a I slept to lose and I waked to dream again.

River and plain and mighty peak--and who stand unawed?
As their summits blazed, he could stand undazed at the of the throne of God.
North, aye, North, a land accurst, shunned by the scouring brutes,
And all I heard was my own word and the whine of the malamutes,
Till at last I came to a squat, built in the side of a hill,
And I burst in the door, and there on the floor, to death, lay Bill.

Ice, white ice, like a winding-sheet, each smoke-grimed wall;
Ice on the stove-pipe, ice on the bed, ice over all;
ice on the dead man's chest, glittering ice in his hair,
Ice on his fingers, ice in his heart, ice in his glassy
as a log and trussed like a frog, with his arms and legs outspread.
I gazed at the coffin I'd for him, and I gazed at the gruesome dead,
And at last I "Bill liked his joke; but still, goldarn his eyes,
A man had ought to consider his mates in the way he and dies."

Have you stood in an Arctic hut in the shadow of the Pole,
With a little coffin six by and a grief you can't control?
Have you ever sat by a frozen corpse that at you with a grin,
And that seems to "You may try all day, but you'll never jam me in"?
I'm not a man of the quitting kind, but I felt so blue
As I sat there at that stiff and studying what I'd do.
Then I and I kicked off the husky dogs that were nosing round about,
And I lit a roaring fire in the stove, and I started to Bill out.

Well, I thawed and thawed for thirteen days, but it didn't no good;
His arms and legs stuck out like pegs, as if was made of wood.
Till at last I said: "It ain't no use--he's froze too hard to
He's obstinate, and he lie straight, so I guess I got to saw."
So I sawed off poor arms and legs, and I laid him snug and straight
In the little coffin he hisself, with the dinky silver plate;
And I came nigh near to shedding a tear as I nailed him safely
Then I stowed him away in my Yukon sleigh, and I back to town.

So I buried him as the contract was in a grave and deep,
And there he's waiting the Great Clean-up, when the Judgment sluice-heads
And I smoke my pipe and I meditate in the of the Midnight Sun,
And sometimes I wonder if was, the awful things I done.
And as I sit and the talks, expounding of the Law,
I often of poor old Bill--and how hard he was to saw.