Luyện nghe bài hát The Jungle Line

Rousseau walks on trumpet
Safaris to the heart of all jazz
Through I bars and girders, through wires and
The mathematic circuits of the nights

Through huts, through Harlem, through and gospel pews
Through the class on park and the trash on
Europe and the deep, deep heart of Dixie blue
Through savage progress cuts the jungle

In a blouse she brings the beer
Rousseau paints a jungle flower her ear
Those of shuck and jive
eat a working girl like her alive

With his hard-edged eye and his steady
He paints the cellar full of ferns and orchid
And he hangs a moon above a five-piece
He hangs it up the jungle line

The jungle line, the line
Screaming in a ritual of sound and
Floating, on the air-conditioned wind
And drooling for a taste of something in

Pretty women funneled valves and smoke
Coy and bitchy, wild and
And elephants and chanting slaving boats
Charging, chanting down the jungle

There's a poppy wreath on a tomb
There's a poppy snake in a dressing
Poppy poison, tourniquet
It slithers away on brass mouthpiece spit

And metal and ivory birds
Go up to Rousseau's vines
go steaming up to Brooklyn Bridge
Steaming, steaming, steaming up the line