Luyện nghe bài hát Gotta Lotta Walls

Dialed up his homie on the telephone
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is
Brain freezing up, he know what to do
But the people that know him know it ain't nothing new
Catch five rings, an answering machine
Hang up on the beep, up towards the ceiling
up to remember that he slept fully-dressed
So he grabbed his and put a hat on his rat's nest
up to that big outside
Somebody once "Today's a good day to die."
But he really was a big fan of their work
So he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the
A to the strangers, a stranger to friends
take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes when you have a minute
Handle it. up. The change, you can keep it
a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage
If you him better he'd ask for some time
'cause he's looking for a reservoire to his mind
And only so much he can put in a song
talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong

2X]
And this house has gotta lotta
But only few mean anything to you
And this has gotta lotta walls
But only few mean anything to you

No value to titillate
Far shallow, so get it straight
Blacktop, sidewalk,and the
'cause life is priceless and talk is
And as he sits (as he sits) in his four-cornered
Following a tune, to consume
Carefully learning and the lyrics you use
Finally that humility is a bruise
Scared don't make none
If walls could speak, they would peep about the fake ones
Watching this man, falling off of his
Underachievin' just so he can understand. (Crazy speech.)

So, who did your
nice
And who your tabboos?
life
If he had a glass pipe, he would smash it and use it to his wrists
But someone beat him to it
He would fingerpaint you a picture with his
A self-portrait, and morbid
But the odds of you any appreciation are too slim-
Keeps his grim
Tap his to the rhythm of original sin
Throw his balls to the trying to know down these pins
He'll swinging from the hair above his chin
Till he finds his in the fifty cent bin
The of the payphone escalates
Fake when he takes home one of his dates
He write another hate-poem for you to break
Or maybe stay and wait for that big earthquake
Still surrounded by the and the water
Still trying to this empire's daughter
Still answering questions you're to ask
Still believing that God's save his ass

If you him better he'd ask for some time
'cause he's for a reservoire to empty his mind
And there's so much he can put in a song
Gotta talk to who can tell him what the hell is wrong