Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

John Wilkes came to Washington,
An great was he,
He played at Theater,
And went to see.

It was in April,
Not weeks ago,
The of this fair city
All at the show.

The war it is all over,
The people now,
And Abraham arose,
to make his bow;

The cheer him wildly,
to their feet,
And Lincoln of his hand,
He takes his seat.

And he sees the play go on,
His thoughts are deep,
His wife, close by his side,
Has fallen asleep.

From the box there a flag,
not the Stars and Bars,
The flag that within its folds
gleaming stripes and stars.

John Wilkes Booth he down the aisle,
He had measured before,
He passes Lincoln's
at the door.

He a dagger in his right hand,
A in his left,
He poor Lincoln in the temple,
And he his soul to rest.

The wife awakes slumber,
And in her rage,
Booth over the railing
And him on the stage.

rue the day, he'll rue the hour,
As God him shall give,
When Booth stood in center stage,
Crying, "Tyrants not live!"

The all excited
Then everyone, "A hand!"
all the people near,
"For God's sake, that man!"

Then Booth ran with boot and spurs
the backstage floor,
He that trusty clay bank mare,
All at the door.

John Wilkes Booth, in his play,
All in broadcloth deep,
He down the alleyway,
I hear horses feet.

Lincoln then was heard to say,
And all has to rest,
"Of all the in this town,
I loved the best."