Luyện nghe bài hát Any Old Irony?

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

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

Without trepidation I sing in
Vocal salute to all tinkers.
Vagabond nation in congregation.
free-thinkers cry from the bryony;

"Any old irony?!"

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

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

Watch out for The Raucously Tiddly,
he's no Dr. Jekyll....so Hyde!
Desperate-Dan-Ramsey; deft diddle.
Watching The Match on a stage-side.

The cat on the fiddle, Georgie Biddle;
Keeping it reeling with her electric.
in the middle I'll rhyme you a riddle;
Irate and my cry from the bryony;

"Any old irony?!"

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