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.
restaurants that curry my brain.
Newspaper changing the names they

Advertise the station stand.
With cold hands.
Symphony word-player, be your headline.
If you me another time.

Didn't make her --- with my baker ruse.
Couldn't shake her --- my baker street bruise.
to take 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 pool goes the princess
great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial is fifty feet
in the baker street underground. (what the hell!)
Walking the gutter thinking,
the hell am I today? ''
Well, I really ask you but thanks all the same.

and the whore

``big bottled fraulein, put your on me,'' said the
to the whore,
Desperate for more in his assault the mountain.
man, his youth a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting 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.
induced fears.
Shedding bell-end tears in the of her resistance.
International assistance generous and full
To his tool.
Pulls his eyes her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my rudder slowly me into the marylebone
Road.

Crash-barrier

And here slip I --- one foot in the gutter ---
In the midnight echo of the shop sells cheap
Radios.
And sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
On a yellow line --- where she can park anytime.
Old lady grey; waltzer ---
Some only son's mother. street casualty.
Oh, mr. policeman --- blue ballet master.
in sticking plaster ---
Move the old on.
Strange ---
His to her juliet.
Her sleeping draught, his regret.
No drunken allowed to sleep here in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap ---
I'll pay the bill and her well - like hell you
will!
No do-good kill. we must teach them
To be more independent.

Mother england

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

There was a little boy on a burning log,
Rubbing his hands glee. he said, ``oh mother england,
Did you light my smile; or did you
This under me?
One day be a minstrel in the gallery.
And paint you a of the queen.
And if sometimes I sing to a degree ---
It's just the that it seems.''

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

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

Indian restaurants that curry my ---
Newspaper warriors changing the 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 flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, out of time ---
You can call me on line.

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

(I get out!)