Luyện nghe bài hát The Dying Truck Driver

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

We some nearer to him then, inquirin' of his name
Well, here's three little angels come 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 you, sir, and dealt the fatal blow?
We'll pull out every workingman from here to

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

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

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