Luyện nghe bài hát Working Girls

She said she came Portland
Where the ashen skies and leaden
Left her like the local boys, barren of
As we we watched the raindrops
down the window
in Darlinghurst,
Like a fish from the past.

And her mother called her
Mary Magdalene,
To deny her
have been the greatest sin
It was a profile in the and a Kings Cross Doorway lean
To half an of tending someone else's tangled dream.

There were lines of sailors, lines of
Lines upon the Footpath where she
things were quiet, as night deferred to dawn.
And the coke played red rover
In the that scuttled through the streets
Taxies left for fields
Sydney stretched and yawned

And her mother called her
Mary Magdalene,
There were in the morning,
She had in the pain;
And the wives would clutch their
Perhaps they the shame,
working streets and Weddingrings are sometimes much the same.

She tap-danced with the
Near the subway shouting blues
They remembered from their teenage years of radio.
And the withdrew behind her eyes
To let the girl look out
In simple innocence
At in the sand.

And her called her Mary
After Magdalene,
She had long hair and massage oil
And a key to let you in;
And the lines upon her face were of roads she'd travelled,
Lined with people throwing because they didn't understand,
a half an hour of tenderness (perhaps they shared the same)
'cause working streets and Weddingrings are sometimes the same.