Luyện nghe bài hát Any Old Irony?

At the of a juddering caravan,
galloping down a dirt-track.
Six furtive figures, 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 nation in congregation.
free-thinkers cry from the bryony;

"Any old irony?!"

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

Maybe Jay's smashed (?), drumming up
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!
deft fingers diddle.
Watching The on a telly stage-side.

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

"Any old irony?!"

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