Luyện nghe bài hát Not Another Day

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

By 5:30, halfway there,
And the back's hurtin' 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 tryin'a catch a overtime,
If she 'til 4 she could be home by 5.
Shuts her for the rest of the route,
And the head-phones loud to drown everything out
But the same old

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

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

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

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

Woke up at the break of dawn when the city's starts to waste along.
The generator on public buses is enough to bust you out of any daydream your stuck in.
I guess that's the chance you takin' you camp out infront of that transfer station.
And this town got no answers to chase man, that's why he sleeps near the transportation.
Pan-handling, transient freedom. Transplant not this region.
But the wind starts to whisper 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,
the same song repeats in his head
over and over and over and it goes:

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