Luyện nghe bài hát Pocket

Here pockets
His hold a thousand deadly sins
The maddest things we found in bins
He clutches and looks at you and grins

Here comes
The children of what they may contain
The linen may have changed, the contents
A treasure island with no name

And socially at the that the timetable forgot
Picking up used tickets in a of have nots
When you are on that of thought
You pass some pretty funky
When you are on that of thought
You pass some pretty funky
the pocket, let him be
the pocket, let him be

Here comes
up the things we cannot see
A bicycle, a dame, a Christmas
of no value to you or me

Here the pocket
through history to just a crawl
History turns the tall the small
But natural born trawlers love to

And the guitar of his hangs upon some wall
Or laying underneath the in a hall
We can carry but we can't hold them all
That's why we learn the blues before we fall
the pocket, let him be
the pocket, let him be

And he's clinging on to
the oak tree to the gale
'Cause finding one love letter in a sky high jumble
Is one single reason, why the pocket not fail