Luyện nghe bài hát Tore Up

The only time I see you is we're in a crowd,
you're with friends and I'm
mine, the musics bumpin' loud.
You used to be the girl that go out on the town,
Now you have these crazy on instagram you post about
After the neon smoke, on the strip.
I'm home alone, you're out with your friends.

I get tore up, I still get tore about it (up about it)
I still get up, I still get tore up (about it)
I still get tore up, I get tore up about it(up about it),

I get tore up about it up about it up about it up about it

Uh, we ain't as young as we once was.
when I had no tattoos, no ID to get in clubs.
We walked broadway at the
lights and life that we never seen.
Breathing in those toxic fumes busses sittin' on 2nd ave.
Trying to sneak the spots where
all the big boys to roam around.
I was 130 soakin wet but I felt like Zeus when you was around.
A long way those county roads
and a small taste of city life.
Sweet of that Jack Daniel's on cigarette smoke and neon lights.
L tracks in the background comin' from a country cover band and
a homeless on a street corner
killin' it when she that violin.
Johnny and June on alley walls that we slapped up way back when
We didn't shit of our life just
6 in from havin' our license.
And If these words polaroids these pictures would be priceless.
These thoughts up in my head keep replaying 'cause timeless.
So whenever you ride up on the

through the times that we had
But the frames I'd truth down the strip our music, I feel bad.

I still get tore up, I still get tore it (up about it)

I still get up, I still get tore up (about it)
I still get tore up, I still get tore up it (up about it)
I still get tore up it up about it up about it up about it

Uh, Yeah not as as we was right.
Now been kicked out of every bar
the one I'm sitting in tonight.
I had about 12 and 2 shots
now I'm in the back alley pot.
Put a cold into a fist fight
with some jockey who get roughed up.
But it's all good that Jack Daniel's got me fucked up always.
I'm gonna this thing on strip
it lookin' I fought a saw blade.
Got on my white suede,
car parked on broadway no pretty in the
passenger the dumb choices that I made.
I start the it's always her so

I'm bumpin' through sound waves.
One bullet in that pistol Smith and Wesson come the pain away
I talk to my drunk self and my sober self I can't take me
so I pull the gun on my half like why you always blamin' me

I still get up, I still get tore about it (up about it)
I get tore up, I still get tore up (about it)
I still get up, I still get tore up about it (up about it)
I still get tore up it up
it up about it up about it