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.
Symphony match-seller, out of time.
You can me on another line.
Indian restaurants curry my brain.
Newspaper changing the names they

Advertise from the stand.
With cold hands.
Symphony word-player, be your headline.
If you catch me time.

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

Ale-spew, puddle-brew --- boys, it up clean.
Coke and bacardi them green.
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted
great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your mound 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 more in his upon the mountain.
man, his youth a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at close to
he came from.
In the of the stars, between blandford street
And
Proposition, deal. flying button feel. testing.
Wallet ever-bulging. dressed to the left,
The of his years.
Wedding-bell fears.
bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance.
International assistance flowing generous and
To his tool.
Pulls his eyes her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my rudder slowly turns me into the
Road.

waltzer

And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the ---
In the echo of the shop that sells cheap
Radios.
And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no ---
On a double yellow --- where she can park anytime.
Old lady crash-barrier waltzer ---
only son's mother. baker street casualty.
Oh, mr. --- blue shirt ballet master.
Feet in sticking ---
the old lady on.
Strange ---
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 kill. we must teach them
To be more independent.

england reverie

I have no time for magazine or rolling stone.
I have no wish for wishing or wishing bones.
I have no in the country I have no motor car.
And if you I'm joking, then I'm just a one-line
in a public bar.
And it seems there's no-body left for and i'm
A one-band-man.
And I want no top twenty or a hundred grand.

There was a little boy stood on a log,
Rubbing his hands glee. he said, ``oh mother england,
Did you light my smile; or did you
This 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 the nonsense that it seems.''

So I down through the baker street valley,
In my un-reality.
And all is said 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 tried to my eye but I looked the other way.

Indian that curry my brain ---
Newspaper warriors changing the names
Advertise the station stand.
Circumcised with print 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 call me on line.

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

(I get out!)