Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

John Booth came to Washington,
An great was he,
He at Ford's Theater,
And Lincoln to see.

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

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

The cheer him wildly,
to their feet,
And waving of his hand,
He calmly his seat.

And while he sees the go on,
His are running deep,
His wife, close by his side,
Has fast asleep.

From the box there a flag,
It's not the and Bars,
The flag holds within its folds
Bright gleaming and stars.

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

He holds a dagger in his hand,
A in his left,
He shoots Lincoln in the temple,
And he sends his to rest.

The awakes from slumber,
And in her rage,
Booth jumps over the
And him on the stage.

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

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

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

John Booth, in his last play,
All in broadcloth deep,
He gallops the alleyway,
I hear those feet.

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