Luyện nghe bài hát Gotta Lotta Walls

Dialed up his homie on the telephone
Gotta to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong
Brain freezing up, he know what to do
But the that know him know that it ain't nothing new
Catch rings, then an answering machine
Hang up on the beep, up towards the ceiling
Stood up to remember that he fully-dressed
So he grabbed his keys and put a hat on his rat's
up to that big outside
Somebody once "Today's a good day to die."
But he never really was a big fan of their
So he starts up the walk by kicking in the dirt
A friend to the strangers, a to friends
He'll take a and a pack of cigarettes when you have a minute
Handle it. Paid up. The change, you can it
He's a for the morning smile and summer cleavage
If you knew him better he'd ask for time
'cause he's looking for a reservoire to empty his
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 lotta walls
But very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta
But very few mean anything to you

No shop to titillate
Far from shallow, so get it
Blacktop, sidewalk,and the
'cause life is and talk is cheap
And as he sits (as he sits) in his room
a tune, born to consume
Carefully learning and analyzing the you use
Finally realizing that humility is a
love don't make none
If these could speak, they would peep about the fake ones
this man, falling off of his plan-
Underachievin' just so he can understand. (Crazy speech.)

So, who did your
That's
And who your tabboos?
That's
If he had a glass pipe, he smash it and use it to slash his wrists
But someone already him to it
He would fingerpaint you a picture with his
A self-portrait, dramatic and
But the odds of you finding any appreciation are too
Keeps his outlook
Tap his foot to the of original sin
Throw his to the wind trying to know down these pins
He'll keep swinging from the above his chin
Till he finds his soul in the cent bin
The price of the payphone
Fake when he takes home one of his dates
He could write hate-poem for you to break
Or maybe calm and wait for that big earthquake
surrounded by the fire and the water
Still trying to this empire's daughter
Still questions you're afraid to ask
Still believing that God's gonna his ass

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