Luyện nghe bài hát Lather

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

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

But all over...

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

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