Luyện nghe bài hát Baker Street Muse

Baker street

bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel.
gentleman. fly-button. feel.
In the underpass, the man stands.
cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, out of time.
You can me on another line.
Indian that curry my brain.
Newspaper warriors the names they

Advertise from the stand.
With print hands.
Symphony word-player, I'll be headline.
If you me another time.

make her --- with my baker street ruse.
Couldn't shake her --- with my baker bruise.
Like to her --- but I'm just a baker street muse.

Ale-spew, puddle-brew --- boys, it up clean.
Coke and bacardi them green.
From the typing goes the mini-skirted princess
great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your mound is fifty feet
Down in the street underground. (what the hell!)
Walking down the thinking,
``how the am I today? ''
Well, I really ask you but thanks all the same.

and the whore

``big bottled fraulein, put weight on me,'' said the
to the whore,
Desperate for more in his upon the mountain.
man, his youth a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an at getting close to
Where he from.
In the doorway of the stars, blandford street
And
Proposition, deal. flying feel. testicle testing.
ever-bulging. dressed to the left, divulging
The of his years.
Wedding-bell fears.
Shedding bell-end in the pocket of her resistance.
International assistance flowing and full
To his tool.
Pulls his over her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my rudder turns me into the marylebone
Road.

waltzer

And here slip I --- dragging one in the gutter ---
In the midnight of the shop that sells cheap
Radios.
And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no ---
On a yellow line --- where she can park anytime.
Old grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---
Some only son's mother. street casualty.
Oh, mr. policeman --- blue ballet master.
Feet in plaster ---
Move the old on.
pas-de-deux ---
His to her juliet.
Her draught, his poisoned regret.
No drunken bums allowed to here in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap ---
I'll pay the bill and make her - like hell you
will!
No do-good over kill. we must teach
To be more independent.

Mother reverie

I have no time for magazine or rolling stone.
I have no for wishing wells or wishing bones.
I no house in the country I have no motor car.
And if you think I'm joking, then I'm just a
Joker in a bar.
And it there's no-body left for tennis; and i'm
A one-band-man.
And I no top twenty funeral or a hundred grand.

There was a little boy stood on a log,
Rubbing his with glee. he said, ``oh mother england,
Did you light my or did you light
fire under me?
One day be a minstrel in the gallery.
And you a picture of the queen.
And if sometimes I sing to a cynical ---
just the nonsense that it seems.''

So I drift down through the street valley,
In my un-reality.
And when all is and all is done --- I couldn't wish
For a one.
It's a ripe dead certainty ---
I'm just a baker street muse.

Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the
Old way.
I to catch my eye but I looked the other way.

Indian that curry my brain ---
warriors changing the names they
Advertise from the stand.
Circumcised with print hands.

bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel.
gentleman. fly-button. feel.
In the underpass, the man stands.
With cold hands.
match-seller, breath out of time ---
You can call me on line.

Didn't her --- with my baker street ruse.
shake her --- with my baker street bruise.
Like to take her --- but I'm a baker street muse.

(I get out!)