Luyện nghe bài hát Tombstone Blues

The sweet pretty things are in bed now, of
The city fathers, trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Revere's horse
But the town has no need to be

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

Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no
Daddy's in the alley, lookin' for food
I'm in the with 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 advice is to not let the in"

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

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

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

The Commander-in-Chief answers him chasing a fly
Saying, "Death to all those who 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 lookin' for
I'm in the with the tombstone blues

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

Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch, he burns out their
With his faithful slave behind him, he tramps
With a fantastic of stamps
To win friends and his uncle

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

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

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

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

Where Ma Rainey and Beethoven once unwrapped bedroll
Tuba players now rehearse the flagpole
And the Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks' and the college

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

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