Luyện nghe bài hát Fly Boy Blue / Lunette

It's a lethal
Air traffic
I'm a baby
thoughts, scotch, dinner
And dancing on the box
A MP
And no one was

My oldest friends are a habit
Fly boy blue, so bring faces home,
To my sweet
And acres of crash site

Someone's on the box
A MP
And no one was
My oldest are a serious habit
Fly boy blue, so bring your faces
To my trampoline
And acres of site love

Presidential
Suppose I'm lucky
I'm a shin dig
Me, Red Bob and the host
And shouting on the box
A chinless prefect gone
My newest friends have my name
But so have I, so far so and home
You and me trampoline and oceans of site love

What can be of the cigarette smokes
A for a joke or a mark on the clock
If I stopped the bus ever come
Would the dawn ever kiss me, me, knowing what's done
Would the make scribble make sense and then song
Would the woodbines denied the northern man's thumbs
as it may sound I sometimes believe
The tip to my lips reminds me to breathe

What can be said of the and wine
Random or ballast for joy
That was scuppered with trust, little more a boy
And besides I'm in company
I'm reaching the age decisions are made
On life and living and I'm last ditch
That'll ask for more time
But forgive me
I'll want a bottle of good Irish whiskey and a bundle of smokes in my grave

But isn't words yet for the comfort I get
the gentle lunette at the top of the nape of the neck that I wake to

And where are the words for the leap in my
When appears either side of the scar on your nose
Made by a rose thorn, so you
By a rose