Luyện nghe bài hát Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie

When yer head gets twisted and yer grows numb
you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy
No matter yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways one hand holdin' on
And the other slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the gets too long
And you start walkin' though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far

And you feel the reins from yer pony are
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are
And yer sun-decked desert and valleys
Turn to down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof a-shakin'
And yer whole a-slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of
And to yourself you say
"I never it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they me the day I was born?"

And you start chills and yer jumping from sweat
And lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water yer hands in the air
And the whole a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear it's
And you yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays
When you were faked out an' fooled white a four flush

And all the time you were three queens
And it's you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the of Life magazine
around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be
That somebody someplace oughta be
But trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your in bed
And no matter how you try you just say it
And yer scared to yer soul you might forget it
And yer get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of

And the lion's mouth opens and yer at his teeth
And his jaws closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands behind
And you wish you'd taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself, "Just am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on trail I'm turnin'
On this I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the I'm taking
In air I'm inhaling?

Am I up too much, am I mixed up too hard?
Why am I walking, where am I
am I saying, what am I knowing?
On guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm
In the words I'm writing

In this ocean of hours I'm all the drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I
What am I giving, what am I
But you try with your soul best
Never to these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts ground
Or make yer heart
But then again you know why they're
waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the of yer thinking
If was you in the dream that was screaming
And you that it's something special you're needin'
And you that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain bleeding

You need something special, you something special, all right
You need a fast flyin' on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and you back
You need a cyclone wind on a engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing
That knows yer troubles a times over

You a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks, voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the
be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new
To show you you seen before
But a hundred times or more
You need something to your eyes

You need something to make it
That you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer
That space that sitting
That the ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you
It can't get you crazy no how many
Times you get kicked

You need something all right
You need special to give you hope
But hope's just a word that maybe you said or you heard
On some corner 'round a wide-angled curve
But that's you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you it too good
"Cause you look an' you getting the chills
"Cause you can't find it on a dollar

And it ain't on window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's map
And it ain't in no fat fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat
And it ain't on dimlit stage
With that comedian on it
Ranting and raving and yer money
And you thinks funny

No you find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper
And sure as hell you're bound to tell that no how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer stub
No, and it ain't in the people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the people are sellin' you
And it in no cardboard-box house
Or down any star's blouse

And you find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store or bubblegum goons
And it in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' "Ain't I pretty and ain't I
at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin
Look at my skin laugh, at my skin cry"
When you can't even sense if got any insides
people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no day
Find it on the made out-a paper mache?
And it the people made of molasses
every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty-star and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a
Who breathe and and bend and crack
And before you can from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time yer back, my friend
The that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in sand-box world

And you find it either in the no-talent fools
That run gallant and make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones ain't got any talent but think they do
And think foolin' you
The ones who on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know in style
To get kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of and chicks

And you yell to and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I be like that!
Ain't there no one here knows where I'm at?
Ain't there no one here that how I feel?
Good God that stuff ain't real!

No but that ain't yer game, it even yer race
You hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look other place
And do you look for this hope that yer seekin'?
Where do you look for this lamp a-burnin'?
Where do you look for this oil gushin'?
Where do you for this candle that's glowin'?
Where do you for this hope that you know is there
And out there
And your can only walk down two kinds of roads?

eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only two kinds of hallways
You can touch and and turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State
You'll find God in the of your choice
You'll find Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And it's only my opinion
I may be or wrong
You'll find them
In the Grand at sundown