Luyện nghe bài hát Nineteen Eighty Bore

Who needs lobotomy when got the ITV
Who needs ECT when good old BBC?
Switch on the set, up the screen
Fantasise and dream about what you might have
Who needs controlling they've got the cathode ray
They've got your fucking soul, now fuse your brains away
fucking morons sit before the set
Being fed the mindless rubbish deserve to get
Can't switch off big brother, they've lost all to act
Lost in drab confusion, was it fiction, was it
Another bullet stuns another Irish child
But no-one's really bothered, no, the telly keeps mild
They've lost all sense of feeling to the every glow
Drained of any substance by the vicious blow
No longer know real or ain't, slowly going blind
They stare into the goggle box while the world goes by,
The Angels are on T.V. tonight, grey fucking shit
They army occupy Ireland, but the boot never fit
Was it Coronation Street? Or was it
Oh it doesn't fucking matter, Paul Daniels'll keep us
Yes, I've of Bobby Sands, wasn't it Emmerdale Farm?
Yes, right, he was kicked by a cow
I hope it do him no harm
And wasn't the Holocaust terrible, thing it wasn't for real
Of I've heard of H-Block, it's the baccy with man appeal
Deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon
Illusion, confusion, is anyone left who can care?
Yes, the Abbey National for you
Nat West, and
Well out the Branston bren-guns
Let's spice it up more
The Sweeney are cruising Brixton, another Belfast
And J.R.'s Thatcher on lighting, make up and cast
A thousand camera lenses point at the people's
As of mindless morons watch the action replay again
Action again
Softly, softly, into life, you're held in it's brilliant glow
Softly, softly, feeding itself on the you you'll never
You're life's reduced to nothing, but an empty game
Big ain't watching you mate, you're fucking watching him