Luyện nghe bài hát The Dying Truck Driver

Well, we our way up 99 in the springtime of the year
The San Joaquin was all in bloom, and songbirds
We chanced a workingman, lying by the road
I judged him for a driver by the clothes he wore

We drew some nearer to him then, of his name
Well, here's three little come down for to carry me home
Then, bear me up to Jesus now, my Savior I see
You ain't no regular angels, boys, but 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 pull out every from here to Ohio

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

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

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