Luyện nghe bài hát The Dying Truck Driver

Well, we made our way up 99 in the of the year
The San was all in bloom, and songbirds everywhere
We upon a workingman, lying by the road
I judged him for a truck by the clothes he wore

We drew nearer to him then, inquirin' of his name
Well, here's three angels come down for to carry me home
Then, bear me up to Jesus now, my I shall see
You ain't no angels, boys, but that's alright by me

Lefty, stepping forward, addressed the dyin' man
Saying, We're no angels, brother, but do all we can
What cowards set upon you, sir, and the fatal blow?
We'll out every workingman from here to Ohio

It was no vigilante gang, nor ranch-boss thugs this
But the special dinner I had on Highway 99
A waitress served me there, and she cooled me with her fan
But fatal meatloaf has struck down this old drivin' man

Then Lefty reached in his bag, saying, You ain't dyin', friend
Just take a drink of whiskey now, you'll feel alright
All through the night we there and passed that bottle round
We aboard at sunrise, lit out for Frisco town

Now, the workingman must be warned whenever headlines scream
"Your rights yield, the bombs must fall to save democracy"
The flag they fly, stew of lies served up at votin' time
Like poison under the on Highway 99