Luyện nghe bài hát Hors D'oeuvres

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