Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill

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

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

Years passed away, and at last one day a squaw with a story 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 it must be Bill.
So I thought of the contract I'd made with him, and I took from the shelf
The swell black box with the silver 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 it's below;
When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads through the crust of the blue snow;
When the pine-trees crack like little in the silence of the wood,
And the icicles hang down tusks under the parka hood;
the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off, and the sky is weirdly lit,
And the careless of a bit of steel burns like a red-hot spit;
When the mercury is a ball, and the frost-fiend stalks to kill
Well, it was just like that that day I set out to look for Bill.

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

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

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

Have you ever stood in an hut in the shadow of the Pole,
With a little coffin six by three and a grief you can't
Have you ever sat by a frozen that looks 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 kind, but I never felt so blue
As I sat there gazing at stiff and studying what I'd do.
Then I rose and I kicked off the husky dogs that were nosing 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 seem no
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 too hard to thaw;
He's obstinate, and he won't lie straight, so I I got to saw."
So I sawed off poor Bill's arms and legs, and I laid him snug and
In the little coffin he picked hisself, with the dinky plate;
And I came near to shedding a tear as I nailed him safely down;
Then I stowed him away in my Yukon sleigh, and I started 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 sweep;
And I smoke my and I meditate in the light of the Midnight Sun,
And I wonder if they was, the awful things I done.
And as I sit and the parson talks, of the Law,
I often think of poor old Bill--and how he was to saw.