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

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

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

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

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