Luyện nghe bài hát The Crock Of Gold

We'll live out our lives on dirty old street
Only because we just can't
But in the concrete of our days
We our names, our names

Just the people before
When reached the distant shore
With their drink and dance
And their and sincere aims

All ghosts long gone, old buildings they stare
With their offspring staring at me for they are still
Dreams that are and lives not realized

Well, why did we write our
In these streets to show we're
Alive, alive, alive,

Well, Chicago is my home and I'll never went to
To on any sun swept distant shore
Well, it is that I was reared by so revered
And I sing the that they all sang before

Well, any woman neared me
Has been repelled most
I'm a lover, God, I am foremost of all

A that's my call
Of high degree
But I'm afraid that they do not know my at all

Well, if it's every years
small relief to me appears
Then the crock of gold wait until

Until that day to myself no more
Lay the shield of at my door
And the sword of alcohol will away

Well, all young in our town
Are overworked and down
Begging but it's just not enough they're giving

Crying quietly, living so desperately
That has to make
This worth living

Real life is only a time
And the excitement holds the times
It will never measure up to TV sells as great

All the drunken jokes and
Exciting pubs they tell the
But the exciting
Well, they just weren't all that

Well, if it's every years
Some small to me appears
Then the crock of gold wait

Until that day to defend no more
Lay the of anger at my door
And the of alcohol will stow away, go

Well, I met a girl one
And enchantment our sight
So we we would hold it for awhile

But she not love me
So me finally, I said, "It's not your fault
But I would like if only for a while"

Well, it's on and on I've
Yeah, that's how it's been
And how it will be as on I go

Oh, but ever on I
Through all the banal until
Well, I find some
To me that seems like

Well, and if it's every years
Some small relief to me
Then the of gold will wait

Until that day to myself no more
Lay the of anger at my door
And the sword of will stow away

Well, and if every twenty years
Some small to me appears
the crock of gold will wait

Until day to defend myself no more
Lay the of anger at my door
And the sword of alcohol stow away