Luyện nghe bài hát Basic Cable

television, all grand pixelated god of
fantasy, murder scape and
fuck a sore changed digit
I sit a nasty network intervenes plan
with a stable of my cable pirate
yo, the is in, the doctor is on
born the bastard son of static radiance cloned to in every home
lead a blue screen, bruised dream
victim of the cursed nursed Technicolor drunk team
ooh, I all advertisements
though accused by news casters who capture and pollute
spoon fed fog to joy luck catholic squad
take me, please calm me, please make me a zombie
please I want to donate my to the monstrous Panasonic profit
now, twenty first plagued
to wide eyed glamour addict patients
telecast
blue be the propaganda banners, well, sure be a Marine
with a clean and blue uniform, it only takes a dollar and a dream
and I great idiot box power supply, fuzz vapor,
black out of New York, hey honey, get the
I'm in a doom, doom generation, pacin', ancient electric
never to miss the AM oasis
my name is a heart, sloppy obligation
turn my stilt into my guilt and have a chatter box frame adjacent station
make reality scrambled and the life out of a hidden vandal
and every minute of the gimmick, change the channel

plug it in, turn it on, me up against the couch
lights out, I ever gonna have to leave my house
satellite dish, get up on my wish list, turn me to a
let my clean dissolve through the appliance

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

make me a star, I touch gold
hold me suspended in a dream, mearly inches the screen
passions sacrificed to one electron monster
crucify my little future to the
damn it feels good, turn on, in
zoom in to hug the bug up in your function
but the seem to love it
yes mother, me and wild
and heard the flock to where I sleep
by the of that magic box big speaker
stereo mastered often the freak seekers, eyes spiraling
tangled in the spangled wiring
I can turn from visuals
and all the kings horses the loyalty to royalty
fuck the
riddle me with glee, hoist the end all telepromter above my head
be dead by morning anyway
color my values with mundane humor in thirty tickets
to the magnetic seal picket censorship
I want twenty four-seven
I wanna shop my bed and set an
for all my overworked, underpaid brethren
I bond with a string of correspondent
and lurking circus
allegiance pledged beyond the glass surface
adamant students within the fine school of possessed catalysts
channel zero addict,
it goes- big screen, little screen, any do
just let me hold the controller and I won't have to you

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

plug it in, turn it on, silent fix than nothing
let a once divine soul feel the functions of the
the viciousness, ridiculous, peaking a interest
touch the power button your maker, ain't that something?

it in, turn it on, say goodbye to Sunday afternoon
fix the antenna, sit back and let disaster
a beautiful sight, with a most ugly intention
but I taste it everyday and bathe inside the

plug it in, turn it on, never once have you talked to me
your majesty, I you, I despise you
my is sitcom, soaps, news, bad dramatization
come along me, my friend for the most glorious sensation