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.
cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, out of time.
You can call me on line.
Indian that curry my brain.
warriors changing the names they

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

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

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

and the whore

``big bottled fraulein, put your weight on me,'' the
to the whore,
Desperate for more in his assault the mountain.
Little man, his a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an at getting close to
he came from.
In the doorway of the stars, between street
And
Proposition, deal. button feel. testicle testing.
ever-bulging. dressed to the left, divulging
The of his years.
Wedding-bell fears.
bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance.
International flowing generous and full
To his tool.
Pulls his over her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my rudder slowly turns me the marylebone
Road.

Crash-barrier

And here slip I --- one foot in the gutter ---
In the midnight echo of the shop sells cheap
Radios.
And there she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
On a double yellow --- where she can park anytime.
Old lady crash-barrier waltzer ---
Some only son's mother. baker casualty.
Oh, mr. policeman --- blue ballet master.
Feet in sticking ---
the old lady on.
Strange ---
His to her juliet.
Her sleeping draught, his regret.
No drunken allowed to sleep here in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap ---
pay the bill and make her well - like hell you
will!
No do-good over kill. we must teach
To be still independent.

Mother 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 country I have no car.
And if you think I'm joking, then I'm a one-line
in a public bar.
And it there's no-body left for tennis; and i'm
A one-band-man.
And I no top twenty funeral or a hundred grand.

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

So I down through the baker street valley,
In my un-reality.
And when all is and all is done --- I couldn't wish
For a one.
It's a ripe dead certainty ---
I'm just a baker street muse.

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

Indian restaurants that curry my ---
warriors changing the names they
Advertise the station stand.
with cold print hands.

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

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

(I get out!)