Luyện nghe bài hát Hors D'oeuvres

The judge sits on his great
Twelve men with swollen thighs
Who never ever no lies
Whose minds were ever a size
Whose lives were ever a prize
Whose brains bred answers like flies
Whose answers their thoughts like spies
Whose lead through the courtroom flies
To rip a hole between two eyes
never ever wore disguise
And ever saw blue skies
Who quickly lived now slowly
Who unopened otherwise
Well you can lead a horse to
But you're never gonna make him
And you can a man to slaughter
But you're never make him think
The critic rubs his arse
Scrapes his poor brains, strains and
And wields a pen that and starts
And thinks in of booze and tarts
And sits there playing his parts
He says I'm much too and far too coarse
And he says this just a farce
He's got no healing
He's got no for our scars
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 think this little gonna make the charts
Well you can lead a to water
But you're never gonna him drink
And you can a man to slaughter
But you're never make him think