Luyện nghe bài hát Hors D'oeuvres

The sits on his great assize
Twelve men with swollen thighs
Who never ever told no
Whose minds were ever such a
Whose lives were ever such a
Whose brains answers just like flies
Whose answers their thoughts like spies
Whose lead ball through the courtroom
To rip a hole clean two eyes
That ever wore disguise
And never ever saw blue
Who quickly lived now slowly
Who closed unopened
Well you can lead a horse to
But you're gonna make him drink
And you can lead a man to
But you're gonna make him think
The critic rubs his arse
his poor brains, strains and farts
And wields a pen that and starts
And thinks in of booze and tarts
And sits there playing his parts
He I'm much too crude and far too coarse
And he says this singer's a farce
got no healing formulas
He's got no for our scars
He's got no bra-strap for our
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 never gonna make him