Luyện nghe bài hát Baker Street Muse

Baker street

bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel.
gentleman. fly-button. feel.
In the underpass, the man stands.
With cold hands.
match-seller, breath out of time.
You can me on another line.
Indian that curry my brain.
Newspaper warriors the names they

Advertise the station stand.
With cold hands.
Symphony word-player, I'll be headline.
If you catch me time.

Didn't make her --- my baker street ruse.
Couldn't her --- with my baker street bruise.
Like to take her --- but I'm just a street muse.

Ale-spew, puddle-brew --- boys, it up clean.
Coke and bacardi colours green.
From the typing goes the mini-skirted princess
great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial is fifty feet
in the baker street underground. (what the hell!)
Walking the gutter thinking,
``how the am I today? ''
Well, I really ask you but thanks all the same.

and the whore

``big bottled fraulein, put your on me,'' said the
to the whore,
Desperate for in his assault upon the mountain.
man, his youth a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, an attempt at getting close to
Where he from.
In the doorway of the stars, blandford street
And
Proposition, deal. flying feel. testicle testing.
Wallet ever-bulging. dressed to the left,
The of his years.
induced fears.
Shedding tears in the pocket of her resistance.
International assistance generous and full
To his tool.
Pulls his eyes her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my slowly turns me into the marylebone
Road.

waltzer

And slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter ---
In the echo of the shop that sells cheap
Radios.
And sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
On a double yellow --- where she can park anytime.
Old lady grey; crash-barrier ---
Some only mother. baker street casualty.
Oh, mr. policeman --- blue shirt master.
Feet in sticking ---
Move the old on.
pas-de-deux ---
His to her juliet.
Her draught, his poisoned regret.
No drunken allowed to sleep here in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me her to a cheap hotel ---
I'll pay the bill and make her well - like you
will!
No do-good over kill. we must teach
To be still independent.

england reverie

I have no time for time or rolling stone.
I have no wish for wishing wells or bones.
I have no house in the I have no motor car.
And if you think I'm joking, then I'm just a
Joker in a bar.
And it seems no-body left for tennis; and i'm
A one-band-man.
And I no top twenty funeral or a hundred grand.

There was a little boy on a burning log,
Rubbing his with glee. he said, ``oh mother england,
Did you light my smile; or did you
fire under me?
One day I'll be a in the gallery.
And you a picture of the queen.
And if I sing to a cynical degree ---
It's the nonsense that it seems.''

So I drift down the baker street valley,
In my un-reality.
And when all is said and all is done --- I wish
For a one.
It's a ripe dead certainty ---
That I'm just a baker muse.

Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the
Old way.
I tried to my eye but I looked the other way.

Indian that curry my brain ---
Newspaper warriors changing the they
Advertise the station stand.
Circumcised with cold hands.

bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel.
gentleman. fly-button. feel.
In the underpass, the man stands.
cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, breath out of ---
You can me on another line.

make her --- with my baker street ruse.
Couldn't her --- with my baker street bruise.
Like to take her --- but I'm just a street muse.

(I get out!)