Luyện nghe bài hát Jolson and Jones

As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the
As the of spring lolls its bloodshot head
Curare! Curare! Curare!
Brogue from 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 five or two centimeters
The of my fingers dusted from doorknobs
A had been dimmed
Some sawdust a ring had been
nice girls were turned into whores
Gardens with fountains where had strutted
Where deaf children were
The of tigers turning to gold in the desert
Pale meadows of stranded
boy
such a boy
There's a in the air
Curare! Curare! Curare!
But the fair senorita 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
into the street
The paralysed
Brogue "Good afternoon!"
I say "Good afternoon!"
"It's a afternoon"
"Yes, a lovely afternoon"I
pockets unstitching so weighted with pins
Into eyes imploding on mazes of
The puddle beneath the
Bobbing on a mild chop that in
Off the river Dix and the open beyond
says
"I'LL PUNCH A IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
me
"I'LL A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"

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