Luyện nghe bài hát White Boots Marching in a Yellow Land

The pilot's poker in the cockpit of the plane
The casualties are rising the dropping of rain
And the mountain of machinery fall before a man
When your white boots marching in a yellow

It's written in the of the village towns we burn
It's written in the empty bed of the unreturned
And the chocolate in the children's eyes will understand
When white boots marching in a yellow land

Red, the bugles of the dawn
The morning has arrived, you be gone
And the patrol chase their chartered souls
Like cold whores following tired

Train them well, the men who will be fighting by side
And never turn your back if the battle turns the
For the of a civil war are louder than commands
When you're white boots in a yellow land

Blow them from the forest and burn them from sight
Tie their hands behind their back and question the night
But when the firing squad is ready, be spitting where they stand
At the white boots in a yellow land

Red, blow the bugles of the
The morning has arrived, you must be
And the patrol chase their chartered souls
Like cold following tired armies

The comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the
Raw recruits are lining up like in a cage
We're in a war, we lost before the war began
We're the white marching in a yellow land

And the lost patrol chase their chartered
Like whores following tired armies