Luyện nghe bài hát The Frozen Four Hundred Pound Fair To Middlin' Cotton Picker

I the field one evening, my fingers so cold and sore
From to middlin' cotton, three hundred pounds or more
Jim McCann was pickin' straddle in the row
The sun began to sinkin' and the wind to blow

He was bound to get four hundred, a draggin' a twelve sack
I hollered out, "Jim, weight it" but I only saw his back
So I went on to supper and I gathered around my kin
I was of Jim out there pickin', with winter settin' in

Next the air was freezin', the snow was nine feet deep
I jerked on my long red handles and I left my kids
I got myself a shovel and went to where I Jim go
And commenced to a diggin' for him at the end of his row

I found his body frozen and I him in to thaw
I dragged in his sack and I weighed it and I added Jim's that I saw
The total was over four hundred so he'd picked than he'd bet
Of fair to cotton, but Jim ain't thawed out yet