Luyện nghe bài hát Pacemaker

Juveniles, hide your mags
The girl's got problems at her
So she's packing up her bags full of
Her man got down Po Na Na
While the madre in the kitchen
Smokes a fags

Body bags come back on planes from war Iraq
It's the stark truth, a dark aftermath
T, the juice and the dog just barks
Remember man the always had the last laugh

It was a blast night down the old 12 Bar
White socks, shoes with the ballads in the car
With a lump in a throat she won't
Twos on a cigarette it's all blah

obli obla dah glug down liquor
Life on for all the day trippers
off small but it's gonna get bigger
By the end of this letter it may all be

Well, she's always asking with the who, and how
The say, 'Ooh, la, la'
Well, if I had another chance I'd do it now
And the say, 'Ooh, la, la, la, la, la, la, la'

From Trafalgar Square where the crack pipe
To in your dark damp flat, the ceiling's
You fell in love you first started chatting
But got so bored 'cause she never stopped

Consider this son on the bad
He's keeping all the freebies, delivering the
You hate us, down fakers
Oh, never get nowhere, 'cause I'm the pacemaker

please me, oh, she's easy on the eye
Some say that today the good young die
Ipee-oh-kai-yay, it's right good day
I wanna ask questions but I mean to pry

How did you get to you're going
To before you slowly moseying through this bar?
You started your race, Johny Cockerel his money back
Give up the man he's a and nut bar

Oh, I see the GP, coughing up lungs
And the doc says, or you're going die young'
I haven't even to do what I done
You don't listen, you just carry on

Well, we heard this before your song got sung
Get a grip son, 'Cause you're always drunken
We're not captains skivvy sunken
drum, drum, live fast die young

Mr. Skin stumbling, the rocky
And trespassers on the private
Remember back it was the ranter banter
Young sons watched their young Pa's get

Vagabond crying out for he missed her
her so much that he went drank the brewery
So sing-a-long Sam this is a about you
We all went out and we got

I don't fight, he's a right big cunt
But the fellas say, 'Go on my son, my
Well, all a bit of fun 'til someone gets done
But the fellas say, 'Go on my son, my

Well, I'm likely to pick up and run
But the say, 'Go on my son, my son'
Ah it, well, he's a right big cunt
But I'll him one, fuck that, run, run