Luyện nghe bài hát F - Hole

(difford/tilbrook)

I wrote her on a bar mat
She had a bonnet,
But a youngish figure
With her tied to a trigger,
She seemed a killer
Her all filled with filler,
Her a painting palette
I all her habits,
Sipped her snow balls like a judge
But left her lipstick on her mug.
We watched each other
She like bela lugosi,
She asked me for a home
I felt for my comb,
And in the bar mirror
I combed through her figure,
She through the car park
the pit of my heart,
Sat herself me in my van
A ring on every of her hand.

She lived down by the
A flat the council her,
Wallpaper scenic
Her very beatnik,
We the close and weather
Then through the he entered,
sleeves and arms of iron
And me just my tie on,
She said the used to this by now
I'd handled all the but not the cow.

Behind her sofa
I myself back sober,
She kept an old
She never ever it,
A gift for me a capo
A six string an f-hole,
We the strangest couple
A and hardy double,
I learnt to her favourite country songs
With one or two chords always wrong