Luyện nghe bài hát Basic Cable

television, all grand pixelated god of
fantasy, scape and perspective
a sore channel changed digit
I sit with a network intervenes plan
with a stable diet of my cable
yo, the doctor is in, the is on
born the bastard son of radiance cloned to welcome in every home
lead a blue screen, bruised dream
victim of the cursed nursed Technicolor drunk support
ooh, I all advertisements
though accused by news casters who capture and pollute
spoon fed fog to joy luck catholic squad
please me, please calm me, please make me a zombie
please I want to my brain to the monstrous Panasonic profit
now, twenty first century
dispersed to wide eyed glamour addict
telecast
blue be the propaganda banners, well, sure be a Marine
with a clean sword and blue uniform, it only takes a and a dream
and I abide great idiot box power supply, vapor,
out of New York, hey honey, get the generator
I'm in a doom, doom generation, pacin', electric secret
never sleepin' to the AM oasis
my name is a wired heart, sloppy
turn my stilt into my guilt and have a box blame frame adjacent station
reality scrambled and suck the life out of a hidden vandal
and loving every minute of the gimmick, the channel

plug it in, turn it on, prop me up against the
lights out, I ain't gonna have to leave my house
satellite dish, get up on my wish list, turn me to a
let my clean spirit dissolve the appliance

plug it in, turn it on, be my mother she's gone, great
the spittle off my chinny-chin during the breaks
if I gotta go blind I'mma do it for the of all television kind
and fine, and that's fine...

make me a star, I wanna touch
hold me suspended in a dream, mearly inches the screen
passions sacrificed to one electron monster
crucify my little future to the
damn it good, turn on, tune in
zoom in to hug the bug up in your function
but the seem to love it
yes mother, me and discovery
and heard the static flock to where I
by the glow of that magic box big
stereo mastered often kill the seekers, eyes spiraling
tangled in the star spangled
I can turn toxicated visuals
and all the kings horses abort the loyalty to
the fortress
riddle me with glee, hoist the end all telepromter above my sleeping
I'll be by morning anyway
color my values mundane humor in thirty minute tickets
to feel the seal picket censorship
I want commercials four-seven
I wanna from my bed and set an
example for all my overworked, brethren
I bond a sick string of correspondent
and lurking circuitry
allegiance pledged beyond the glass surface
adamant students within the fine school of possessed graduate
channel zero addict,
it big screen, little screen, any screen'll do
just let me the controller and I won't have to murder you

plug it in, turn it on, let my little glaze
twenty screens lined up the borders of the maze
I wanna see the five day forecast, fourteen days in
so I can get my two notice every time the sun dance

plug it in, it on, silent fix better than nothing
let a once divine soul feel the functions of the
the viciousness, ridiculous, a dummy's interest
touch the power button meet your maker, ain't that

plug it in, turn it on, say goodbye to afternoon
fix the antenna, sit back and let bloom
it's a beautiful sight, with a most intention
but I taste it everyday and bathe the consequences

plug it in, turn it on, once have you talked back to me
your majesty, I you, I despise you
my everyday is sitcom, soaps, news, bad
come along with me, my for the most glorious sensation