Luyện nghe bài hát Pacemaker

Juveniles, your porno mags
The girl's got problems at her
So she's up her bags full of rags
Her man got from Po Na Na
the madre still in the kitchen
Smokes a fags

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

It was a blast last down the old 12 Bar
White socks, black with the ballads in the car
With a in a throat she won't understand
Twos on a cigarette all blah blah

Bloody obla dah glug down liquor
goes on for all the day trippers
Starts off small but gonna get bigger
By the end of this letter it may all be

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

Trafalgar Square where the crack pipe reeking
To in your dark damp flat, the leaking
You fell in love when you first chatting
But got so bored she never stopped speaking

this son on the bad behavior
He's keeping all the freebies, the papers
You hate us, down fakers
Oh, you'll get nowhere, 'cause I'm the pacemaker

Pretty please me, oh, she's on the eye
Some say that today the good young die
Ipee-oh-kai-yay, it's been good day
I wanna ask questions but I don't to pry

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

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

Well, we this before when your song got sung
Get a grip son, why? 'Cause you're always
We're not captains just sunken
Humdrum drum, drum, fast die young

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

Sandy crying out for he missed her
Missed her so much he went drank the brewery
So Sam this is a song about you
We all out and we got pissed-ola

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

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