Luyện nghe bài hát The Jungle Line

Rousseau on trumpet paths
to the heart of all that jazz
Through I bars and girders, wires and pipes
The mathematic of the modern nights

Through huts, through Harlem, through jails and gospel
Through the on park and the trash on vine
Through Europe and the deep, deep of Dixie blue
Through progress cuts the jungle line

In a low-cut she brings the beer
paints a jungle flower behind her ear
Those cannibals of shuck and
They'll eat a working like her alive

With his eye and his steady hand
He paints the full of ferns and orchid vines
And he hangs a moon above a band
He hangs it up above the jungle

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

Pretty women funneled through valves and
Coy and bitchy, and fine
And charging elephants and slaving boats
Charging, chanting down the line

There's a wreath on a soldier's tomb
There's a poppy snake in a room
Poppy poison, poppy
It slithers away on like 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