Luyện nghe bài hát Bowling Song (Almighty Malachi, Professional Bowling God)

You watch me on your TV, say my job is easy.
Say I am not athletic, you my sport's pathetic.

But you judge me 'til you've walked a mile
in my shoes...

So I don't get all the ladies, got a mullet the 80's.
I'm known throughout the as the prophet of alleys...

And as I roll the I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!"
I'm Almighty Malachi, the god.
The smell of rosin gets my high, those fuckin' pins goodbye!
I'm Malachi, the bowling... bowling... god.

Got a ball smooth and all black,
I keep it in my ball sack.
I get a feeling in my as I finger every hole...

And as I roll the I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!"
I'm Almighty Malachi, the god.
The of rosin gets my high,
kiss motherfuckin' pins goodbye!
I'm Malachi, the bowling... bowling...

Not a man will try to beat Almighty Malachi.
All who challenge me are slain; on fuckers, pick a lane.
Marshall Home and Gary Dickens, get in for your ass kickins'.
Patracky and Norton Duke; you're so lame, it makes me puke.
Who amongst the pro-bowl sector to don his wrist protector?
Not that pussy Nelson Burton, tells me that his is hurtin'.
Hey Walfey, Earl the Pearl,
are ya' to give the ball a hurl?
How Dickey Webber and his son Pete;
turn the motherfuckas to Cream of Wheat!

And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me or let me die!"
I'm Malachi, the bowling god.
The smell of rosin my high, kiss those fuckin' pins goodbye!
I'm Malachi, the bowling... bowling god!

Yeah, the god...