Luyện nghe bài hát The Vile Stuff

Year 7's on a school trip to Featherstone Castle and some wee scallywag's brung a bottle containing a spirit
Poor Peter Hepplethwaite cracks open his head on a shiny bedknob
And has to be by helicopter ambulance to Haltwhistle Hospital
Si fills a Reebok pump with the pulp from his belly then sets off a fire-extinguisher in the girl's dormitory
And finally clambers into bed with Miss
Much to the chagrin of the deputy headmaster whose scarlet skull is firmly between her thighs

I only drank a few little
I only took a tiny of the vile stuff

Downing own-brand stubbies in the lad's bogs
I listen to the dull reflection of a in the toilet bowl
My drifting away from me
Matthew Mooney's hockle in my hair smells like menthol
Outside the chip-shop Thaddeus Wagstaff my cheekbone
3 cans of Castlemaine XXX go rolling down my trouser leg
Blood, and curry coalesce in the corners of my nails
My friends drifting from me

I only drank a few little
I only took a draught of the vile stuff

to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philips-head screwdriver
I pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate
It's a major operation to repair a tendon
I around with the tube still down my throat
The milk of amnesia fills my cup and back the hole I go
Snoring like a pan of broth I the ire of my fellow patients wagging their ladles in the dark

My neighbor lost two fingers to a Staffy-cross
Whilst jogging over Cow with a Pepperami in his bum-bag
He's a junior partner at James & james no-win no-fee solicitor of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in Halifax
He I should try meditation
He reckons it would benefit my of mind

My walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle United
Between which I the presence of a horse-headed figure holding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettes
He is the King of singing like a boiler, "tomorrow is on its way"

I haven't had a of sleep and now the sun is in my porridge
I'm starting a BTEC in engineering at College
My thermos flask leaks soup on the metro clogging up the keys of my MacBook
pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencils
Ruck-sack dripping up the of WH Smith to buy a fresh pad of paper

I only a few little droplets
I took a tiny draught of the vile stuff