Luyện nghe bài hát Lather

Lather was thirty old today,
They took all of his toys.
His sent 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,
his very own tank.
But Lather still finds it a nice to do,
To lie nude in the sand,
Drawing pictures of mountains that like bumps
And thrashing the air his hands.

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

But all over...

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

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