Luyện nghe bài hát Fly Boy Blue / Lunette

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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

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

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

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

delays
Suppose I'm just
I'm having a dig
Me, Red Bob and the ivory
And shouting on the box
A prefect gone Godzilla
My friends 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 cigarette
A prop for a or a mark on the clock
If I stopped would the bus ever
Would the dawn ever kiss me, me, knowing what's done
Would the drivel make scribble make sense and then
Would the woodbines like the northern man's thumbs
Perverse as it may sound I believe
The tip to my lips just me to breathe

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

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

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