Luyện nghe bài hát Happy Hour

by alcohol,
shooting out like a rocket,
a prophet out of Babylon
method the absurd...
Shoot me highballs
till I'm lit up I'm plugged in a socket;
me eyeball to eyeball,
let's not with the words.
Oh, on the clowns, bring on the night,
pour me double in black and white.
I'm falling, falling give me that look!
I'm falling, falling, the oldest trick in the book,
My chickadee, my flower,
show me the way to the Hour.

I like to see that:
oh, no, I don't like the way the is shaking,
like an acrobat
on his way to the trapeze.
My in the crowd
are all bets
they're taking away the net.
Falling, falling give me that look!
I'm falling, only falling, the oldest trick in the book,
vertigo on the high-wire
is this really what mean by "Happy Hour"?

The line the social and the suicidal
so fine he might not know he's crossed it,
when he's it;
the social kick becomes the gauging-stick of survival.

So to the circus,
drink to the game of forgetting
the marionette that jerk us,
the real world just the door.
I know that my legs have
and I know that the light is far from perfect...
but I've rehearsed it, so carry on
until I up on the floor.

My in the bar
stand me a round,
they'll me on my way to the underground.
I'm falling, falling don't me that look!
I'm falling, falling, it's the oldest trick in the book,
My chickadee, my flower,
me the way to the Happy Hour.
Vertigo on the high-wire
is this really what mean by "Happy Hour"?

Put on the greasepaint, we're ready for Happy Hour.
Do you hear me now? Can you feel me
I'm in the of Happy Hour...
Put on the greasepaint.
[repeat to