Luyện nghe bài hát The King of the Rollerama

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

He was a real eight-wheeled Mercury
Skating backwards to a Chance on Me
And I'm surprised I didn't just die from a preteen drama
In his skates he was six feet tall!
Underneath that pulsing ball
His called him 'Wheels' he was
King of the
(Well, he wasn't a king, he was a rink guard,
but to an adolescent on the of womanhood,
Is no difference.)

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

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

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

Oh, somewhere in this town
Some guy clutches a silver whistle tight
Puts on his old blue satin jacket and the drama
when you're 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 is a fallacy. I never wore Jean Natae.
I was always the Sweet type. ~D.F.