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 sitting in a distinctly upright
so that I may at least have the ghost of a to digest
what I don't mind telling you- is inedible slop
lovingly and habitually prepared and by
the and vagabonds who are the so-called staff of this institution
with the menu, sir?
finished the menu, sir?
finished the menu, sir?
finished with the menu,
yes, yes, I shall enjoy soft cakes, toast, tea, eggs,
jam...
mind you, I complain, before I came here I thought
scrambled eggs were supposed to be brown and at the bottom
and dull at the top
my mother, god bless her, boil a fuckin kettle
without burnin the inside
I came here it's a different story, you know, oh yes,
a different deck of cards...
scrambled eggs arrive with the consistency of a moth swimming
in a foul yellow 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 every as we sleep
our beloved kitchen staff gathers around the eggs
like some pagan offering homage to a false icon
first, the head chef, the leader, ritualistically stands on an
institutional chair, the fly of his
institutional trousers, out his
institutional willy, and in our breakfast.
HA HA HA!
they're just a of loonies, what do they care?
half the bloody time end up throwing it on the floor,
or still, at each other...