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

Ale-spew, --- boys, throw it up clean.
Coke and colours them green.
the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess
With 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 didn't ask you but thanks all the same.

Pig-me and the

``big bottled fraulein, put weight on me,'' said the
to the whore,
Desperate for in his assault upon the mountain.
man, his youth a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting to
Where he from.
In the doorway of the stars, between blandford
And
Proposition, deal. flying button feel. testing.
Wallet ever-bulging. to the left, divulging
The of his years.
Wedding-bell fears.
Shedding tears in the pocket of her resistance.
International assistance flowing and full
To his tool.
his eyes over her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my rudder slowly me into the marylebone
Road.

waltzer

And here slip I --- dragging one 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 --- where she can anytime.
Old grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---
Some only son's mother. baker casualty.
Oh, mr. policeman --- blue shirt master.
in sticking plaster ---
Move the old on.
Strange ---
His to her juliet.
Her sleeping draught, his regret.
No bums 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.

Mother reverie

I have no time for time or rolling stone.
I have no for wishing wells 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 seems there's no-body for tennis; and i'm
A one-band-man.
And I want no top funeral or a hundred grand.

There was a boy stood on a burning log,
Rubbing his hands with glee. he said, 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 sometimes I sing to a degree ---
It's the nonsense that it seems.''

So I down through 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 real-life dead certainty ---
That I'm just a baker muse.

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

Indian restaurants curry my brain ---
Newspaper changing the names they
Advertise the station stand.
Circumcised cold print hands.

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.

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

(I get out!)