Luyện nghe bài hát Gran

Alone and pointless by her self,
she at the tin of sardines on the shelf.
By a parafin in a dingy brown room,
sits and broods in the thickening gloom.
It's a gloom that congeals so greasy and thick,
You could cut into strips and on a stick.
And round to friends, but there's nobody there,
just Gran, on her own, in a chair.
So point it at me, point it at Gran.
She it more than I do, and more than Princes Anne.
When Anne's 82 and living in a room room flat in Hackney,
maybe she do ... with a bit as well.
point it me, don't point at it yourself.
Just it at Gran and the sardines on the shelf.
Don't it at me, I've had more than enough.
Just it at Gran, she could do with plenty of stuff.
Don't point it at me, it Gran.
Well, it be a firehose, or it could be a flan.
Now, some people are happy and people are bored,
and some people are and completely ignored.
So why should your life end on a dismal