Luyện nghe bài hát Any Old Irony?

At the of a juddering caravan,
hurriedly galloping a dirt-track.
Six figures, crooked as Caliban;
hope to the land of the claque.

Weary, hoarse-riders; blistered.
Spent a decade a-roving the road.
a jig for our brothers and sisters;
by the cartload.

Without I sing in laudation;
Vocal to all travelling tinkers.
Vagabond joined in congregation.
free-thinkers cry from the bryony;

"Any old irony?!"

Come one, come all to our travelling
your cares for the painted parade.
Whirl down the like dervish-berserkers;
If life hands us lemons; make lemonade.

Maybe Jay's (?), drumming up passion;
Scarring forever with brisk tattoo
in the place so bass is in fashion,
killing us all his amp set on 2.

Watch out for The Raucously Tiddly,
Unplugged no Dr. Jekyll....so Hyde!
Desperate-Dan-Ramsey; fingers diddle.
The Match on a telly stage-side.

The cat on the fiddle, Miss Biddle;
Keeping it reeling with her electric.
Stuck in the middle rhyme you a riddle;
Irate and eclectic my cry the bryony;

"Any old irony?!"

Come one, all to our travelling circus;
Cast-off your for the painted parade.
Whirl down the wynd dervish-berserkers;
If hands us lemons; we'll make lemonade.