Luyện nghe bài hát Land of the Lost

Hướng dẫn luyện nghe

Bạn hãy nghe bài hát và điền từ còn thiếu vào các ô trống.
Sau khi điền hết, bạn nhấn nút gửi bài ở phía dưới để được chấm điểm.
Với những câu trả lời sai, bạn hãy rê chuột lên ô nhập để xem đáp án đúng.
Nếu bạn muốn luyện nghe lại với các ô trống khác thì click vào link "Làm lại bài điền từ khác" ở cuối bài.

Bắt đầu làm bài nào

f/ Rylander

First (SPM):

He was the son of a man, what he saw was what he learned
He left school, now it's finally his
To rob and steal, but he feels he to stop and chill
'cause in his heart he knows that God is real
Mama still tries, to his eyes
'cause the way a man lives is the way a man
His father's doing twenty-five to
'cause the love of money cuts like a
lights, he doesn't know which way to go
His best friend just got two days ago
He writes his Dad the first that he ever wrote
A little note, how bad his heart was broke
Before the mail, could even reach his jail
The boy was at a neighborhood hotel
selling wholesale just like his pop him
Rock bottom, a muthafuckin' cop him

(Marilyn Rylander):

We will....
you...
We will...
love for you...
A of life....
And now gone...
You a life....
In the of the Lost....

Second (SPM):

They met they was teenagers, around the tenth grade
She fell in love, and now he to get paid
He convinced her to work at the naked
And everything she dancing he would take it
She got a I.D., and a club license
A second life, she had to live in silence
At seventeen, she got the to finally leave him
That's she met the demon
that led to last dances
It was a cold murder, he sure that he really hurt her
Over dumb shit, but he had to it further
She hit the canvas, now she at Frances
Six o' services, feel the nervousness
Of to look at death perfectless
I'm smoking burning the shit out my fingers

the words of the Church choir singers

Third (SPM):
Another Mexican

A happy ditch digger
Set tripper, wig
finger quick to blast upon a rival
Vida loca, another word for
Same color of skin, but different color
Browns putting up in body bags
Every two or three streets is a clique
They got no love for themselves so living sick
For centuries we filling penitentaries
It's to see, we're our worst enemy
The smartest, talented of the raza
Is all dead or time for a fuckin' Tronza
Geniuses, all meaningless
they can't find a way to break free from this
Needless to say, the gangsta I speak of
G-Love, is in a grave that he dug