Luyện nghe bài hát Reality Whitewash

The grey man at the
Looks around to see if there's some he can steal
He doesn't really want to, he's just out a game
In own fucked up way, most people do the same
She cleans the mirror
So she can her eyes
An in delusion, an artist in disguise
She's not content with what she is, but she does the she can
do it for herself, she does it for her man
And he's out hunting, this master of the hunt
down the high street in his endless search for cunt
And the posters on the hoardings his pursuit
Glossy ads, men are men, and women simply cute
And the men are in motorcars and the men have nerves of steel
And they of Charlies Angels as they firmly grip the wheel
And they they're screwing in the back 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 lack
Now she's down the cooker, on the surface all is fine
His dinner's in the oven cos he's overtime
She switches on the telly, it her feel secure
Helps her way of life, who needs 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 done the 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 for its moderating voice
The ads and weekly series are the she needs
That a of boredom outweighs the deeds
She sits up till the epilogue and to bed alone
Content that when he's work he'll go straight home
Meanwhile he has another scotch, the lady has a
If asked about the wife he treats it as a joke
"Hear the one the you-know-what"
He's got what it and he takes what he's got
He took his woman and he'll take plenty
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 of adulthood, boxed and filed
Another to whitewash, to us a child is born
To follow in its parents' tracks, the well worn
Fantasy and falsehood, and lie
The fucked up they call reality
They system needs its servants, each birth is one
Gently talk of freedom as they quietly lock the
Cos the system needs its servants if the system's to run
Fodder for the workhouse, for the gun