Luyện nghe bài hát Not Another Day

She caught the bus at
in the AM for all you little trust-fund kids.
And a 45 minute trip
If she aint in by 6, catch another pink-slip.
And that's 3, and that FIRED,
A coffee 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, she's there,
And the back's already from the buses plastic chair.
"Live to work, to live, to work, to live."
She's gotta the kid and give it all she's got to give.
Plus she's tryin'a a little overtime,
If she stays 4 she could be home by 5.
her eyes for the rest of the route,
And keeps the head-phones to drown everything out
But the same old

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

Seems like even knew his name huh?
If he disappeared would they even see the blank
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 kids on the did.
Nah man, don't deserve to die,
And he's the type of kid that couldn't a fly.
I guess you get to the life,
Maybe why he refuses to cry.
it on the chin,
it in stride,
What break you just makes you stronger right?

So he sits by himself on the bus,
Hoping that 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.
the same old song:

Whoa, not another day.
Not another day of the same old 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 enough to 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 this town got no answers to man, that's why he always sleeps near the transportation.
Pan-handling, transient freedom. Transplant not this region.
But when the wind starts to whisper its lips he knows enough to pack it up and dip out the winter hits.

Childhood dreams washed down the
parents gone, no sisters, no brothers.
Weak memories, paranoia,
the same song repeats in his head
over and and over and over it goes:

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