Luyện nghe bài hát Not Another Day

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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

She the bus at 5:06
in the AM for all you little trust-fund kids.
And a 45 minute trip
If she in by 6, she'll catch another pink-slip.
And that's 3, and means FIRED,
A coffee in the purse to help her keep wired.
The day-care where she drops the off,
thank God it's on the same as the bus-stop.

By 5:30, she's there,
And the back's already from the buses plastic chair.
"Live to work, to live, to work, to live."
gotta feed the kid and give it all she's got to give.
Plus she's catch a little overtime,
If she 'til 4 she could be home by 5.
Shuts her eyes for the of the route,
And keeps the loud to drown everything out
But the old song:

(Chorus)
Whoa, not another day.
Not day of the same old song.
Whoa, Whoa not day.

Seems like nobody knew his name huh?
If he disappeared would they see the blank spot?
The only kids who might notice are the ones who push him up and down the and in the lunch rooms.
he looks at his bruises,
He wants to come to school with a gun like those on the news did.
Nah man, don't deserve to die,
And he's the type of kid that murder a fly.
I you get used to the life,
that's why he refuses to cry.
it on the chin,
it in stride,
What dosn't break you just makes you right?

So he sits by on the school bus,
Hoping today he wouldn't have to put his dukes up.
But just like any other here they to fuck off with his comfort can't wait for summer.
It's the old song:

Whoa, Whoa not day.
Not day of the same old song cumon.
Whoa, not another day.

Woke up at the of dawn when the city's blood-line starts to waste along.
The generator on those public buses is to bust you out of any daydream your stuck in.
I guess that's the chance you takin' when you camp out infront of transfer station.
And town got no answers to chase man, that's why he always sleeps near the transportation.
Pan-handling, transient freedom. Transplant not this region.
But when the wind starts to its lips he knows enough to pack it up and dip out before the winter hits.

dreams washed down the gutter
Both gone, no sisters, no brothers.
Weak memories, paranoia,
While the same song in his head
over and and over and over it goes:

Whoa, not another day.
Not another day of the same old cumon.
Whoa, not another day.
Not another day of the old song cumon.
Whoa, not another day.
Not another day of the same old cumon.
Whoa, Whoa not day...