Luyện nghe bài hát The Breakfast Conspiracy

gonna tell you a story; some kind of a breakfast
breakfast in bed,
breakfast in bed,
ah, no thanks, not
in fact, I'd far be sitting in a distinctly upright position
so that I may at least have the of a chance to digest
what I mind telling you- is completely inedible slop
lovingly and prepared and served by
the thugs and vagabonds who are the staff of this institution
finished the menu, sir?
finished the menu, sir?
with the menu, sir?
finished the menu, sir?
yes, yes, I shall enjoy cakes, toast, tea, scrambled eggs,
jam...
mind you, I can't complain, before I came I thought
scrambled eggs were supposed to be brown and crispy at the
and dull at the top
my mother, god bless her, cannot boil a kettle
without burnin the water
When I came it's a different story, you know, oh yes,
a whole different of cards...
scrambled eggs arrive with the consistency of a moth about
in a foul yellow liquid- I wonder where came from?
I would like to put forth my theory, my own story, if you will,
you to know what I think?
I think every morning as we sleep
our beloved kitchen staff gathers around the scrambled
like some pagan cult homage to a false icon
first, the chef, the cult leader, ritualistically stands on an
chair, opens the fly of his
institutional trousers, out his
institutional willy, and in our breakfast.
HA HA HA!
they're just a bunch of loonies, what do they
half the bloody time end up throwing it on the floor,
or still, at each other...