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 lives were ever a prize
Whose brains bred just like flies
Whose answers stalked their like spies
lead ball through the courtroom flies
To rip a clean between two eyes
That never ever wore
And never ever saw skies
Who quickly now slowly dies
Who closed unopened
Well you can a horse to water
But you're never gonna him drink
And you can lead a man to
But you're never gonna make him
The critic rubs his arse
his poor brains, strains and farts
And a pen that stops and starts
And thinks in terms of booze and
And sits playing with his parts
He says I'm much too crude and far too
And he says this just a farce
He's got no healing
He's got no cure-all for our
He's got no bra-strap for our
And our sagging tits no longer a full house of hearts
And you know I don't think 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 a man to slaughter
But you're gonna make him think