Luyện nghe bài hát Reality Whitewash

The grey man at the
Looks around to see if there's some skirt he can
He doesn't really want to, he's just acting out a
In their own fucked up way, most do the same
She cleans the bathroom
So she can line her
An in delusion, an artist in disguise
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 he's out hunting, this master of the hunt
Cruising down the high in his endless search for cunt
And the posters on the hoardings his pursuit
Glossy ads, where men are men, and women simply
And the men are in their and the men have nerves of steel
And they dreams of Charlies Angels as they firmly the wheel
And they fantasise they're screwing in the seat of the car
Fantasise they're fucking with a real life star
Fantasies to the gaps, to fill in every crack
A whitewash on reality to hide the truth lack
Now sponging down the cooker, on the surface all is fine
His in the oven cos he's doing overtime
She switches on the telly, it makes her secure
Helps confirm her way of life, who to ask for more
She the happy family unit, wife and hubby on the screen
The perfect social unit, just like it's been
She's done the very she can
To love and honour and her man
And if she should ever doubt the wisdom of her
She can on the television for its moderating voice
The ads and weekly are the proof she needs
That a life of boredom outweighs the
She sits up the epilogue and goes to bed alone
Content that when finished work he'll go straight home
Meanwhile he has another scotch, the lady has a
If he's asked the wife he treats it as a joke
"Hear the one the you-know-what"
He's got what it takes and he takes he's got
He his woman and he'll take plenty more
She took on a rat to keep the wolf the door
Then in her loneliness she'll want to have a child
Who'll be taught the games of adulthood, and filed
Another to whitewash, to us a child is born
To follow in its parents' tracks, the path's worn
and falsehood, truth and lie
The fucked up they call reality
They needs its servants, each birth is one more
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