Luyện nghe bài hát Not Another Day

She the bus at 5:06
in the AM for all you little trust-fund kids.
And a 45 minute trip
If she aint in by 6, she'll catch pink-slip.
And that's 3, and means FIRED,
A thermice in the purse to help her keep wired.
The day-care where she drops the off,
thank God on the same block as the bus-stop.

By 5:30, halfway there,
And the back's already hurtin' the buses plastic chair.
"Live to work, to live, to work, to live."
She's gotta the kid and give it all she's got to give.
she's tryin'a catch a little overtime,
If she stays 'til 4 she be home by 5.
her eyes for the rest of the route,
And keeps the head-phones to drown everything out
But the old song:

(Chorus)
Whoa, not another day.
Not another day of the old song.
Whoa, Whoa not day.

Seems like nobody knew his name huh?
If he disappeared would they even see the spot?
The only kids who might notice are the who push him up and down the hallways and in the lunch rooms.
he looks at his bruises,
He wants to come to with a gun like those kids on the news did.
Nah man, don't deserve to die,
And he's the type of kid couldn't murder a fly.
I guess you get to the life,
Maybe that's why he to cry.
it on the chin,
it in stride,
What dosn't break you just makes you right?

So he by himself on the school bus,
Hoping that today he wouldn't to put his dukes up.
But just like any other here they come to fuck off his comfort can't wait for summer.
It's the old song:

Whoa, Whoa not day.
Not another day of the old song cumon.
Whoa, Whoa not day.

up at the break of dawn when the city's blood-line starts to waste along.
The generator on those public buses is to bust you out of any daydream your stuck in.
I guess that's the chance you takin' when you camp out of that transfer station.
And this got no answers to chase man, that's why he always sleeps near the transportation.
Pan-handling, transient freedom. not from this region.
But when the wind to whisper its lips he knows enough to pack it up and dip out before the winter hits.

Childhood dreams washed the gutter
Both gone, no sisters, no brothers.
Weak memories, paranoia,
While the same song in his head
over and and over and over it goes:

Whoa, Whoa not day.
Not another day of the same old cumon.
Whoa, not another day.
Not another day of the old song cumon.
Whoa, Whoa not day.
Not day of the same old song cumon.
Whoa, not another day...