Luyện nghe bài hát 1957

I saw the best of my generation destroyed.
of conviction, conflicted, annoyed.
Kicked at and down. 6 6 6.
Beat. Looking for the next fix.
Unpopular with problems
Up against angels in disguise who to rob them;
Who want to end up crushed by gods embrace
In the age of the cold blowing and dogs in space;
Whos faces are fading. Theyre the drunk.
In empty haunted by Thelonious Monk.
Felonious punks and plate glass
see empty eyes that look straight past theirs.
Street walking cheetahs with a gun in hand
Who are at sea and are desperate to reach land.
descending. Swimming in the crooked waters.
Hello Sid Vicious, Brooklyn Dodgers...

No joke. Hit the low note.
We all go to in a little row boat.

1957 Chevy Bel Air. Interior especially.
Bloody probably. Stereo: Buddy Holly, Presley.
Black Flame Trilogy. Quadruple bass.
Battle sites. Rock. Satellites in outer space
Words wont but a few bucks can.
Crew cuts and black leather. Ku Klan.
Men hats. In fact, harems are shared.
addicted to and parents scared.
The underground is real. greens to river queens.
motion of free-thinkers and libertines.
Who suffer all night with pains
Hooked on drums and who fight chains.
Its Faulkner and Baldwin. and curse reality.
Spy vs. spy and the of personality.
What can the numbers and the words in my mean?
Killroy was and so was Buster Crab and Ed Gein.

No joke. Hit the low note.
We all go to heaven in a row boat.

The pen keeps moving in to sink the jingoes.
Fight em hula hoops, frisbees and pink flamingoes.
Up running all night. sleep ordered.
gun will travel. Great leap forward.
Man on the corner with dark free and preaching.
is monstrous. Diet is Dionysian.
All the world, so much peril in one show.

Playwright Miller marries Marilyn Monroe.
Hard rain falling. sleeping in Gods palms.
Alarm clocks ringing. monks and bomb squads.
Invasion Of The Snatchers. Clairvoyants and mediums.
in nothing. Speed freaks and bohemians.
Red is the new black. files.
and grand dragons. Obscenity trials.
Lolita and Fisher country. No part is red,
Just black and white. Bogart is dead.

No joke. Hit the low note.
We all go to heaven in a row boat.