Luyện nghe bài hát Industrial Revolution

1]
Yeah nigga, Technique, metaphysics

The bling-bling era was cute but it's to be done
I leave you of clips like the moon blocking the sun
my metaphors are dirty herpes but harder to catch
like an escape tunnel in prison I started scratch
and now these parasites wanna of my ASCAP
trying to control perspective like an flashback
but a quotable for every single record exec
get your hands out my pocket nigga like Malcolm X
but this a movie, I'm not a fan or a groupie
and I'm not that type of cat, you can to miss if you shoot me
curse the heavens and when the sky electrocutes me
Immortal Technique in your thoughts darkening dreams
no ones as good as good as me, they just got better marketing
I leave ya to your own destruction sparking a fiend
'cause you got jealousy in ya voice like star
and the primary reason that I hate yall faggots
I've been nice since got killed over 8-ball jackets
and Reebok Pumps didn't do shit for the sneaker
I'm a heatseaker with features that'll reach through the
and counter revolutionaries personally
break a thermometer and force feed his kids
try jerking me thinking they call shots
offered me a deal and a blanket of small pox
your all shot, you little fucking trecherous bitches

This is the business, and ya'll ain't getting nothing for
and if you devils play broke, then I'm your company
you can call it reparations or
and load nigga, industrial revolution

2]
I want fifty three million dollars for my collar
like the Bush administration to the Taliban
and fuck packing grams nigga, learn to and behave
you wanna spend twenty years as a slave
two million people in prison keep the government
stuck in a six by cell alive in the grave
i was made by revolution to speak to the
deep in the club the truth, reach for the glasses
I burn an orphanage to bring heat to you bastards
innocent deep in a casket, fashion
of the flow like thugs passion
you motherfuckers will never get me to blastin'
your better off asking Ariel for compasion
your better off for twenty points for a label
your better off battling cancer telephone cabels
Technique chemically unstable, set to
by the dead sea scrolls written in codes
so if your message shit, fuck the records you sold
'cause if you go platinum, it's got to do with luck
it just that a million people are stupid as fuck
in the underground in general and rose to the limit
without managers, a deal, or a gimmick
Volume 2, murder the critics
and leave your fucking body rotten for the and crickets