Luyện nghe bài hát The King of the Rollerama

At twelve my friends read Teenbeat and wrote to Frampton
staple-scarred Leif Garret posters by their beds
It all rather shallow, (my love was more mature)
It was the that ripped an adolescent heart to shreds
All week I'd dream him in science and in math class
I couldn't eat I couldn't sleep 'til arrived
Then I'd don my vest, a sprits of Jean Natae
And I would go down to the so I could watch him roll on by

He was a real live eight-wheeled
backwards to Take a Chance on Me
And I'm surprised I didn't just die from such a preteen
In his skates he was six feet tall!
Underneath that pulsing disco
His friends called him he was
King of the
(Well, he actually a king, he was a rink guard,
but to an on the verge of womanhood,
Is no difference.)

He had a pretty (they'd neck in his Baretta)
Sometimes she wore a poncho, she was so way
She hung out at the Snack Bar they called couples only
And every time took the rink, I'd blubber like a fool
I'll not forget that session during crack the whip
Woah! I my balance and I fell off to the side
Oh, here my darling hero, too fast for him to stop
He skated over all my fingers and it break his stride!!!
I didn't that cast for a month!

He was too much for girls like me to
Leaving Old breezes in his wake
And I'm I didn't just die from such a preteen drama
It was there I what true love means
As he breezed by me in jeans
His name was Mike, he was
King of the

One day, the comb wedged in the back of his
tight designer jeans defied all natural of surface
physics and fell out onto the rink. I the relic to
my breast with trembling and all afternoon practiced
the words that would fall from my to his strong, manly ears.
Finally, as he was a quarter into a game of Asteroids,
I my move, skated up to him and I go,
"Um, you this.
And like, "Thanks."
And as he grabbed for the comb HIS
BRUSHED MINE and I thinking with a
clarity far beyond my years, no event of my
would ever equal that moment of perfect ecstasy.
And to be honest, nothing really has.

Oh, somewhere in this town
Some paunchy guy clutches a silver whistle
Puts on his old blue satin and relives the drama
Cause when rink guard in a one-mall town
Well, nowhere you can go but down but
You a star!
of the Rollerama.

The rumor that this is an accurate, first-person
of my adolescence is a fallacy. I never Jean Natae.
I was always the Sweet type. ~D.F.