Luyện nghe bài hát The Jungle Line

Rousseau on trumpet paths
Safaris to the of all that jazz
I bars and girders, through wires and pipes
The mathematic circuits of the modern

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

In a blouse she brings the beer
Rousseau paints a jungle behind her ear
Those cannibals of shuck and
They'll eat a working girl her alive

his hard-edged eye and his steady hand
He paints the cellar 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 of sound and time
Floating, on the air-conditioned wind
And for a taste of something smuggled in

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

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

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