Luyện nghe bài hát Fly Boy Blue / Lunette

It's a lethal
Air congestion
I'm having a
thoughts, scotch, dinner
And someone's on the box
A MP
And no one was

My oldest friends are a serious
Fly boy blue, so your faces home,
To my trampoline
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 faces home
To my sweet
And acres of crash love

delays
Suppose I'm lucky
I'm a shin dig
Me, Red Bob and the ivory
And shouting on the box
A chinless gone Godzilla
My newest have forgotten my name
But so have I, so far so and home
You and me and oceans of crash site love

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

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

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

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