Luyện nghe bài hát Hors D'oeuvres

The judge sits on his great
Twelve men wise swollen thighs
Who never told no lies
Whose minds ever such a size
Whose were ever such a prize
Whose brains bred just like flies
Whose answers stalked their thoughts spies
lead ball through the courtroom flies
To rip a hole clean between two
That never ever disguise
And never ever saw skies
Who quickly lived now slowly
Who closed otherwise
Well you can a horse to water
But never gonna make him drink
And you can lead a man to
But you're never gonna make him
The rubs his tired arse
Scrapes his poor brains, strains and
And wields a pen that stops and
And thinks in of booze and tarts
And sits there with his parts
He I'm much too crude and far too coarse
And he says this singer's just a
got no healing formulas
He's got no for our scars
He's got no for our bras
And our tits no longer hold a full house of hearts
And you know 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 a man to slaughter
But you're gonna make him think