Luyện nghe bài hát The Gallery

My building's full of little holes with in,
at the street.
They topple forwards,
then at one another,
freaks.
They rarely and though I don't feed them--
they keep their double (their quadruple) chins.
Their garbage bins are each day.
By night waiting with lights off, cats out,
their wives in-- PEEPING!
They're peeping at the man who spits in a can,
spreads his for silver,
pans for gold.
He mutters old forgotten his father taught him,
on the floor.
He in alcoves,
gets caught in waterfalls down walls.
(He's bored.)
My applaud, throw pennies and wait. . .
peeping the gallery.