Luyện nghe bài hát Hors D'oeuvres

The judge on his great assize
Twelve men wise with swollen
Who never ever told no
minds were ever such a size
Whose lives were such a prize
Whose brains bred answers like flies
Whose answers stalked thoughts like spies
Whose lead ball through the courtroom
To rip a hole between two eyes
never ever wore disguise
And ever saw blue skies
Who lived now slowly dies
Who unopened otherwise
Well you can lead a to water
But you're never gonna him drink
And you can lead a man to
But you're never gonna make him
The critic rubs his tired
Scrapes his brains, strains and farts
And wields a pen that stops and
And thinks in terms of booze and
And sits playing with his parts
He says I'm much too crude and far too
And he this singer's just a farce
got no healing formulas
He's got no cure-all for our
He's got no bra-strap for our
And our sagging tits no longer a full house of hearts
And you what? I don't think this little song's gonna make the charts
you can lead a horse to water
But never gonna make him drink
And you can lead a man to
But you're never make him think