Luyện nghe bài hát Industrial Revolution

1]
Yeah nigga, Immortal Technique,

The era was cute but it's about to be done
I leave you full of clips like the moon the sun
my metaphors are like herpes but harder to catch
like an tunnel in prison I started from scratch
and now these wanna percent of my ASCAP
trying to control perspective like an flashback
but here's a for every single record exec
get your fucking 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 afford to miss if you me
curse the heavens and laugh when the sky me
Immortal Technique stuck in your thoughts darkening
no ones as good as as me, they just got better marketing schemes
I ya to your own destruction like sparking a fiend
you got jealousy in ya voice like star scream
and that's the primary that I hate yall faggots
I've nice since niggas got killed over 8-ball jackets
and Pumps that didn't do shit for the sneaker
I'm a heatseaker with features that'll reach through the
and murder counter revolutionaries
break a and force feed his kids mercury
ANR's try jerking me thinking they shots
offered me a deal and a blanket full of pox
your all getting shot, you fucking trecherous bitches

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

2]
I want fifty three dollars for my collar stand
like the Bush gave to the Taliban
and fuck packing grams nigga, to speak and behave
you wanna twenty years as a government slave
two people in prison keep the government paid
in a six by eight cell alive in the grave
i was made by revolution to speak to the
deep in the toast the truth, reach for the glasses
I burn an orphanage just to bring heat to you
innocent in a casket, columbian fashion
intoxicated of the flow like thugs
you motherfuckers will never get me to stop
your better off Ariel Sharon for compasion
your better off begging for twenty for a label
your better off battling cancer under cabels
chemically unstable, set to explode
foretold by the dead sea scrolls written in
so if your message ain't shit, the records you sold
'cause if you go platinum, it's got to do with luck
it just means that a million 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 for the roaches and crickets