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 don't what to do
But the people that know him know it ain't nothing new
Catch five rings, then an machine
Hang up on the beep, stare up the ceiling
Stood up to remember that he slept
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 really was a big fan of their work
So he starts up the by kicking sand 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
a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage
If you knew him better he'd ask for some
'cause he's looking for a 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

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

No shop value to
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 four-cornered
Following a tune, born to
Carefully learning and the lyrics you use
Finally that humility is a bruise
love don't make none
If these walls could speak, would peep about the fake ones
Watching this man, falling off of his
Underachievin' just so he can understand. (Crazy speech.)

So, who did tattoos?
That's
And who your tabboos?
life
If he had a glass pipe, he smash it and use it to slash his wrists
But already beat him to it
He would fingerpaint you a picture with his
A self-portrait, and morbid
But the odds of you finding any appreciation are too
Keeps his outlook
Tap his to the rhythm of original sin
Throw his balls to the wind trying to know these pins
He'll keep swinging from the hair his chin
Till he finds his in the fifty cent bin
The price of the escalates
Fake smile he takes home one of his dates
He could write another hate-poem for you to
Or maybe stay and wait for that big earthquake
Still surrounded by the fire and the
Still trying to this empire's daughter
Still answering questions 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 so much he can put in a song
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him the hell is wrong