Luyện nghe bài hát The Jungle Line

Rousseau walks on trumpet
Safaris to the heart of all that
I bars and girders, through wires and pipes
The mathematic of the modern nights

Through huts, Harlem, through jails and gospel pews
Through the on park and the trash on vine
Through Europe and the deep, deep heart of Dixie
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
They'll eat a girl like her alive

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

The jungle line, the line
Screaming in a of sound and time
Floating, drifting on the air-conditioned
And drooling for a of something smuggled 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 poppy wreath on a tomb
There's a snake in a dressing room
Poppy poison, tourniquet
It away on brass like mouthpiece spit

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