Luyện nghe bài hát Gotta Lotta Walls

Dialed up his Murs on the telephone
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is
Brain freezing up, he don't know to do
But the people that know him know that it nothing new
Catch rings, then an answering machine
Hang up on the beep, up towards the ceiling
Stood up to that he slept fully-dressed
So he grabbed his and put a hat on his rat's nest
Stepped up to big outside
once said "Today's a good day to die."
But he never really was a big fan of work
So he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the
A to the strangers, a stranger to friends
He'll take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes when you have a
Handle it. up. The change, you can keep it
a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage
If you knew him better he'd ask for some
he's looking for a reservoire to empty his mind
And there's only so he can put in a song
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is

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 is cheap
And as he (as he sits) in his four-cornered room
Following a tune, born to
Carefully learning and the lyrics you use
Finally realizing that humility is a
Scared don't make none
If these walls could speak, would peep about the fake ones
Watching man, falling off of his plan-
Underachievin' just so he can understand. (Crazy speech.)

So, who did tattoos?
That's
And who built your
life
If he had a pipe, he would smash it and use it to slash his wrists
But already beat him to it
He fingerpaint you a picture with his blood
A self-portrait, and morbid
But the of you finding any appreciation are too slim-
Keeps his outlook
Tap his to the rhythm of original sin
Throw his balls to the wind trying to know down pins
He'll swinging from the hair above his chin
Till he finds his in the fifty cent bin
The price of the escalates
Fake smile when he home one of his dates
He write another hate-poem for you to break
Or maybe stay calm and for that big earthquake
surrounded by the fire and the water
Still to honor this empire's daughter
Still questions you're afraid to ask
Still believing God's gonna save his ass

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