Luyện nghe bài hát Light Pollution

John A. Hobson was a man
He to loan me books and mic stands
He got me a subscription
To the Review

Listening to records in his
Old folk songs the government
love of money not the market
He these fuckers push on you

And freedom yells, it cry
Whatever sells decide
But there's no hell you die
So don't look so

He got a night life, his day job
Pushing papers, pendulums
Anything to a function
Or to occupy time

You gotta earn living somehow
You're good as without a bank account
But funny how alive he has felt down
In unemployment line

all that trash at his feet
The of piss in the street
All of that filthy
For the way feeling

Don't
Don't
worry

The shade
The they wave
The playing loud
The baseball game was out

And all at
You saw the dust and
Every sound
Got in his truck and around

out through the crowd and the cops
Drove out past center mall
Drove out past sickening sprawl
Out past fenced in gold

And maybe he lost
Fucking with the
But I bet the seem so close
At the end

At the end
At the end
At the end
...