Luyện nghe bài hát Little People

(Mr J Medeiros)
Envision the of age
where the disposition
is that of a parrot to live in a cage
who the parents when decisions are made
to not listen and they got their fist in to fair play
be in your submission to rage
you became a victim the way
the done gave way
the same pain
your and cant blame
recondition brain till your convinced you can change
wishin family tradition wont land you in a position
where you the rain
lonely without a home, cus now your grown
wearing a milestone like its the tie you own
crying your alone
hoping that God you, wondering if your kids do
no one should to live through
the violence that you through
the that's still within you
its time to things right and free the child that lives in you.

(Hook)
me...see me...
do you know i'm still breathing
i to the sounds of a TV.
the thing that really wants to reach me
listen...mommy please...
there must be a way to raise me
i'm yelling till my ears can't me
into a silence kills me

(Stro)
there billy stands in twenty below gripping his
that two hours ago
dramatic i know, but cold ain't it, year olds waiting
another look at a picture that lost time painted
we say put it i can't look at it
the truth a little when you look at it
creating a mold of bad habits
when the teacher got eleven year olds blast at 'em
and the world tunes in just
listening to every word should have heard at age ten
then daddy wonders where it all
he could call you a father, but couldn't really call you a friend
you worked to provide a home for good living
and you figured, that's all you really had to give 'em
now, if you don't know much know
all work, no play, far cry, near

(Hook)

(Rez)
it was said that the
grass weather and the flower will fall down
and every man will when his number gets called
but when a child takes his life that type of don't work out a
a flower never to pluck its own pedals out
and out of the tears it gets so clear
that the son i held dear i somewhere
between my work and a child size casket
hard to mask these dreams keep flashing his
foot hanging from a stainless steel table and
a white sheet stain with a mothers pain a
every day i wake to face this of pain
so i milk the scapegoat to easy this feeling of thinking
what kind of man am i? what of mother were you?
what of life did we subject our child to?
wishing i would have listened i would have probably clues
praying for that his soul could sure use

(Hook)