Luyện nghe bài hát Baker Street Muse

Baker muse

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 call me on line.
Indian restaurants curry my brain.
Newspaper changing the names they

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

make 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.
Coke and bacardi them green.
From the pool goes the mini-skirted princess
great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty
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.

Pig-me and the

``big bottled fraulein, put your weight on me,'' the
to the whore,
Desperate for more in his upon the mountain.
man, his youth a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, an attempt at getting close to
he came from.
In the doorway of the stars, between blandford
And
Proposition, deal. flying 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 assistance flowing generous and
To his tool.
his eyes over her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my slowly turns me into the marylebone
Road.

waltzer

And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the ---
In the midnight echo of the shop that sells
Radios.
And sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
On a double yellow line --- she can park anytime.
Old grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---
only son's mother. baker street casualty.
Oh, mr. policeman --- shirt ballet master.
Feet in sticking ---
Move the old on.
pas-de-deux ---
His to her juliet.
Her sleeping draught, his regret.
No drunken bums allowed to sleep in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me her to a cheap hotel ---
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 for wishing wells or wishing bones.
I no house in the country I have no motor car.
And if you think I'm joking, then I'm a one-line
in a public bar.
And it seems there's left for tennis; 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 my smile; or did you light
This under me?
One day I'll be a in the gallery.
And paint you a of the queen.
And if I sing to a cynical degree ---
It's the nonsense that it seems.''

So I drift 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 real-life ripe certainty ---
That I'm 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 restaurants that curry my ---
Newspaper warriors changing the they
Advertise from the stand.
with cold print hands.

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

Didn't her --- with 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!)