Luyện nghe bài hát Gran

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