Luyện nghe bài hát Reality Whitewash

The man at the wheel
Looks around to see if there's skirt he can steal
He doesn't really want to, he's acting out a game
In their own fucked up way, most people do the
She cleans the mirror
So she can line her
An expert in delusion, an artist in
not content with what she is, but she does the best she can
Doesn't do it for herself, she it for her man
And meanwhile out hunting, this master of the hunt
Cruising down the high street in his search for cunt
And the on the hoardings encourage his pursuit
Glossy ads, where men are men, and women simply
And the men are in their motorcars and the men nerves of steel
And they dreams of Charlies as they firmly grip the wheel
And they fantasise screwing in the back seat of the car
Fantasise they're with a real life movie star
to fill the gaps, to fill in every crack
A whitewash on reality to the truth they lack
Now she's sponging the cooker, on the surface all is fine
His dinner's in the oven cos he's doing
She switches on the telly, it makes her secure
Helps confirm her way of life, who to ask for more
She sees the happy unit, wife and hubby on the screen
The perfect social unit, like it's always been
She's the very best she can
To and honour and obey her man
And if she should ever doubt the wisdom of her
She can turn on the television for its moderating
The ads and weekly are the proof she needs
a life of boredom outweighs the deeds
She sits up till the epilogue and to bed alone
Content that he's finished work he'll go straight home
Meanwhile he has scotch, the lady has a coke
If he's asked about the wife he it as a joke
"Hear the one the you-know-what"
got what it takes and he takes what he's got
He took his woman and he'll plenty more
She took on a rat to keep the from the door
Then maybe in her loneliness she'll want to a child
Who'll be the games of adulthood, boxed and filed
Another life to whitewash, to us a child is
To follow in its parents' tracks, the path's worn
Fantasy and falsehood, and lie
The fucked up system they call
They system needs its servants, each birth is one
Gently talk of freedom as they lock the door
Cos the system needs its servants if the going to run
Fodder for the workhouse, for the gun