Luyện nghe bài hát Hors D'oeuvres

The judge on his great assize
Twelve men wise with swollen
Who never ever told no
Whose minds were ever a size
lives were ever such a prize
Whose brains bred just like flies
Whose answers stalked thoughts like spies
Whose lead ball through the courtroom
To rip a hole clean two eyes
never ever wore disguise
And never ever saw blue
Who quickly lived now slowly
Who unopened otherwise
Well you can lead a to water
But you're never make him drink
And you can lead a man to
But you're never make him think
The rubs his tired arse
Scrapes his brains, strains and farts
And wields a pen stops and starts
And thinks in of booze and tarts
And sits there playing with his
He says I'm too crude and far too coarse
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 hold a full of hearts
And you know what? I don't this little song's gonna make the charts
Well you can a horse to water
But you're never gonna make him
And you can lead a man to
But you're gonna make him think