Luyện nghe bài hát The Jungle Line

Rousseau walks on trumpet
Safaris to the heart of all jazz
Through I and girders, through wires and pipes
The mathematic of the modern nights

Through huts, through Harlem, jails and gospel pews
the class on park and the trash on vine
Through Europe and the deep, heart of Dixie blue
Through savage progress the jungle line

In a low-cut blouse she the beer
Rousseau paints a jungle behind her ear
Those cannibals of shuck and
They'll eat a working like her alive

With his hard-edged eye and his hand
He the cellar full of ferns and orchid vines
And he hangs a moon above a five-piece
He it up above the jungle line

The line, the jungle line
Screaming in a of sound and time
Floating, drifting on the wind
And drooling for a of something smuggled in

Pretty women funneled valves and smoke
Coy and bitchy, wild and
And charging elephants and slaving boats
Charging, chanting down the jungle

There's a poppy on a soldier's tomb
There's a poppy in a dressing room
Poppy poison, tourniquet
It slithers away on brass like spit

And metal skin and ivory
Go steaming up to Rousseau's
They go steaming up to Bridge
Steaming, steaming, steaming up the line