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.
restaurants that curry my brain.
Newspaper changing the names they

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

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

Ale-spew, --- boys, throw it up clean.
Coke and bacardi colours green.
From the pool goes the mini-skirted princess
great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is feet
Down in the street underground. (what the hell!)
Walking down the thinking,
``how the am I today? ''
Well, I didn't 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.
man, his youth a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting to
he came from.
In the doorway of the stars, between blandford
And
Proposition, deal. flying feel. testicle testing.
Wallet ever-bulging. to the left, divulging
The of his years.
Wedding-bell fears.
Shedding bell-end tears in the of her resistance.
International flowing generous and full
To his tool.
his eyes over her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my rudder slowly turns me the marylebone
Road.

waltzer

And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the ---
In the midnight echo of the shop that cheap
Radios.
And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no ---
On a double yellow line --- where she can anytime.
Old grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---
Some only son's mother. baker casualty.
Oh, mr. policeman --- blue ballet master.
Feet in plaster ---
Move the old on.
pas-de-deux ---
His to her juliet.
Her draught, his poisoned regret.
No drunken bums allowed to sleep in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me her to a cheap hotel ---
I'll pay the and make her well - like hell you
will!
No over kill. we must teach them
To be more independent.

Mother england

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

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

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

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

Indian restaurants 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, out of time ---
You can call me on line.

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

(I get out!)