Luyện nghe bài hát The Jungle Line

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

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

In a low-cut she brings the beer
Rousseau paints a flower behind 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 vines
And he hangs a moon a five-piece band
He hangs it up above the 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 smuggled in

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

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

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