Luyện nghe bài hát The Jungle Line

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

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

In a low-cut blouse she the beer
Rousseau paints a jungle flower her ear
Those cannibals of shuck and
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 a moon above a five-piece band
He hangs it up the jungle line

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

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

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

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