Luyện nghe bài hát The Breakfast Conspiracy

gonna tell you a story; kind of a breakfast conspiracy
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 the ghost of a chance to digest
what I don't telling you- is completely inedible slop
lovingly and habitually prepared and by
the thugs and vagabonds who are the so-called staff of institution
finished with the menu,
finished the menu, sir?
finished the menu, sir?
finished the menu, sir?
yes, yes, I shall soft cakes, toast, tea, scrambled eggs,
jam...
mind you, I can't complain, I came here I thought
scrambled eggs were to be brown and crispy at the bottom
and yellow at the top
my mother, god her, cannot boil a fuckin kettle
without burnin the water
When I came here it's a story, you know, oh yes,
a whole different of cards...
scrambled eggs arrive with the of a moth swimming about
in a yellow liquid- I wonder where that came from?
I would like to put my theory, my own inside story, if you will,
you wanted to know what I
I think that morning as we sleep
our beloved kitchen gathers around the scrambled eggs
like some pagan offering homage to a false icon
first, the head chef, the cult leader, stands on an
chair, opens the fly of his
institutional trousers, out his
willy, and urinates in our breakfast.
HA HA HA!
they're just a bunch of loonies, what do they
half the bloody time they end up it on the floor,
or still, at each other...