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

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

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

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

I his body frozen and I took him in to thaw
I dragged in his sack and I weighed it and I Jim's marks that I saw
The was over four hundred so he'd picked more than he'd bet
Of fair to middlin' cotton, but Jim thawed out yet