Luyện nghe bài hát Lather

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

But wait, ol' productive you know,
He the finest of sound,
Putting on either side of his nose,
the best licks in town,

But all over...

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

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