Luyện nghe bài hát Hors D'oeuvres

The judge sits on his assize
Twelve men with swollen thighs
Who never told no lies
Whose minds were ever a size
Whose lives ever such a prize
Whose brains bred answers just like
Whose answers stalked their thoughts spies
Whose lead through the courtroom flies
To rip a hole clean between two
never ever wore disguise
And ever saw blue skies
Who quickly now slowly dies
Who unopened otherwise
you can lead a horse to water
But you're gonna make him drink
And you can lead a man to
But you're never gonna him think
The critic his tired arse
Scrapes his poor brains, strains and
And wields a pen stops and starts
And thinks in terms of and tarts
And sits there with his parts
He says I'm too crude and far too coarse
And he says this just a farce
got no healing formulas
He's got no for our scars
got no bra-strap for our bras
And our sagging tits no hold a full house of hearts
And you know I don't think this little song's gonna make the charts
Well you can lead a horse to
But you're gonna make him drink
And you can a man to slaughter
But you're never gonna make him