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

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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

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

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

Next morning the air was freezin', the snow was nine feet
I jerked on my long red handles and I left my asleep
I got a shovel and went to where I seen Jim go
And to a diggin' for him at the other 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 marks that I saw
The total was over four hundred so he'd picked more than bet
Of fair to cotton, but Jim ain't thawed out yet