Luyện nghe bài hát Lather

Lather was thirty old today,
took away all of his toys.
His mother newspaper clippings to him,
About his friends who had being boys.
There was Howard C. Green, just thirty-three,
His leather chair at the bank.
And Sergeant Dow Jones, twenty-seven old,
Commanding his own tank.
But still finds it a nice thing to do,
To lie nude in the sand,
Drawing pictures of that look like bumps
And the air with his hands.

But wait, ol' Lather's you know,
He the finest of sound,
drumsticks on either side of his nose,
Snorting the licks in town,

But all over...

Lather was years old today
And came foam from his tongue.
He at me, eyes wide, and plainly say,
"Is it that I'm no longer young?"
And the call him famous,
the old men call insane.
And sometimes, so nameless,
That he hardly knows game to play,
words to say.

And I should have told him, 'No, not old.'
And I should let him go on...smiling...babywide.