Luyện nghe bài hát The Breakfast Conspiracy

gonna you a story; some kind of a breakfast conspiracy
in bed, sir?
breakfast in bed,
ah, no thanks, not
in fact, I'd far rather be 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
and habitually prepared and served by
the thugs and vagabonds who are the so-called staff of institution
finished with the menu,
finished the menu, sir?
finished with the menu,
with the menu, sir?
yes, yes, I shall soft cakes, toast, tea, scrambled eggs,
jam...
mind you, I can't complain, before I here 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 fuckin
without burnin the inside
I came here it's a different story, you know, oh yes,
a whole different of cards...
scrambled eggs arrive with the consistency of a swimming about
in a yellow liquid- I wonder where that came from?
I would like to put forth my theory, my own story, if you will,
you wanted to know I think?
I think that morning as we sleep
our kitchen staff gathers around the scrambled eggs
like some pagan offering homage to a false icon
first, the head chef, the leader, ritualistically stands on an
chair, opens the fly of his
institutional trousers, out his
willy, and urinates in our breakfast.
HA HA HA!
they're a bunch of loonies, what do they care?
half the bloody time end up throwing it on the floor,
or still, at each other...