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

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

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

Ale-spew, --- boys, throw it up clean.
and bacardi colours them green.
From the typing goes the mini-skirted princess
great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, burial mound is fifty feet
Down in the street underground. (what the hell!)
down the gutter thinking,
``how the hell am I ''
Well, I didn't really ask you but all the same.

Pig-me and the

``big bottled fraulein, put your weight on me,'' the
to the whore,
Desperate for in his assault upon the mountain.
Little man, his a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting to
Where he 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 eyes her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my slowly turns me into the marylebone
Road.

waltzer

And here slip I --- one foot in the gutter ---
In the echo of the shop that sells cheap
Radios.
And there she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
On a double yellow line --- she can park anytime.
Old lady crash-barrier waltzer ---
Some only son's mother. street 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 to sleep here in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap ---
I'll pay the and make her well - like hell you
will!
No do-good kill. we must teach them
To be still independent.

Mother reverie

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

There was a boy stood on a burning log,
Rubbing his with glee. he said, ``oh mother 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 I sing to a cynical degree ---
just the nonsense that it seems.''

So I drift down through the street valley,
In my un-reality.
And when all is said and all is done --- I couldn't
For a one.
a real-life ripe dead 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 that my brain ---
Newspaper warriors the names 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.
With flute hands.
match-seller, breath out of time ---
You can call me on line.

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

(I get out!)