Luyện nghe bài hát Jolson and Jones

As the grossness of lolls its head against the window
As the grossness of spring its bloodshot head
Curare! Curare! Curare!
Brogue cries the street
Curare! Curare!
As the of spring rose
A tumor balloon to squeak the window
With the of spring staining into the walls
The had been shifted ever so slightly
Say feet or two centimeters
The prints of my fingers dusted doorknobs
A had been dimmed
Some sawdust where a ring had
Where nice girls were turned whores
Gardens with fountains peacocks had strutted
Where deaf children were
The splendor of turning to gold in the desert
Pale meadows of pyramids
boy
such a boy
There's a in the air
Curare! Curare! Curare!
But the fair don't seem to care
Curare! Curare! Curare!
As the of spring lolls its head against the window
As the grossness of spring its bloodshot head
I merely got up so
across the floor
Closed the door on the
Descending the
Dipping into the
The paralysed
Brogue "Good afternoon!"
I say "Good afternoon!"
"It's a afternoon"
"Yes, it's a afternoon"I
Into pockets unstitching so weighted with
eyes imploding on mazes of sins
The puddle beneath the
on a mild chop that rolled in
Off the Dix and the open water beyond
says
"I'LL A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
me
"I'LL PUNCH A IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"

"I'LL A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
"I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE OF GALWAY"
boy
Such a boy
In her voice, there's a
boy
Such a boy
and e-e-aw