Luyện nghe bài hát Tombstone Blues

The sweet pretty things are in bed now, of
The city fathers, they're trying to
The reincarnation of Paul Revere's
But the has no need to be nervous

The ghost of Belle Starr, she hands her wits
To the nun, she violently knits
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper, who
At the head of the Chamber of

in the factory, she ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for
I'm in the kitchen the tombstone blues

The bride in the penny arcade
Screaming, she moans, "I've been made"
sends out for the doctor, who pulls down the shade
And says, "My is to not let the boys in"

Now, the medicine man and he shuffles inside
He walks with a and he says to the bride
"Stop all this weeping, your pride
You will not die, not poison"

Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no
Daddy's in the alley, lookin' for food
I'm in the kitchen the tombstone blues

Well, the Baptist, after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero, the
Saying, "Tell me, hero, but please make it brief
Is a hole for me to get sick in?"

The Commander-in-Chief answers him chasing a fly
Saying, "Death to all who would whimper and cry"
And, dropping a barbell, he to the sky
Saying, "The sun's not yellow, chicken"

Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no
Daddy's in the alley, he's for food
I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone

The of the Philistines, his soldiers to save
Puts jawbones on their and flatters their graves
Puts the pipers in prison and fattens the slaves
Then sends them out to the

Davey with a blowtorch, he burns out their camps
With his slave Pedro behind him, he tramps
With a collection of stamps
To win friends and influence his

in the factory, she ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for
I'm in with the tombstone blues

The of innocence, flesh on the bone
Causes Galileo's math to get thrown
At Delilah, sitting worthlessly alone
But the on her cheeks are from laughter

I wish I could give Brother his great thrill
I set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever

Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no
Daddy's in the alley, he's for food
I'm in the kitchen with the blues

Where Ma Rainey and Beethoven once their bedroll
players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old home and the college

Now, I wish I could write you a melody so
That could hold you, dear lady, from insane
That could ease you and cool you and the pain
Of your and pointless knowledge

Mama's in the factory, she got no shoes
in the alley, he's lookin' for food
I'm in the with the tombstone blues, oh right