Luyện nghe bài hát Reality Whitewash

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