Luyện nghe bài hát Industrial Revolution

1]
Yeah nigga, Immortal Technique,

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

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

2]
I want fifty three million for my collar stand
like the Bush gave to the Taliban
and fuck packing grams nigga, learn to speak and
you wanna spend twenty years as a government
two million people in prison keep the paid
in a six by eight cell alive in the grave
i was by revolution to speak to the masses
deep in the club the truth, reach for the glasses
I burn an just to bring heat to you bastards
innocent deep in a casket, fashion
of the flow like thugs passion
you will never get me to stop blastin'
better off asking Ariel Sharon for compasion
your better off for twenty points for a label
your better off battling under telephone cabels
chemically unstable, set to explode
foretold by the dead sea written in codes
so if your ain't shit, fuck the records you sold
'cause if you go platinum, it's got nothing to do with
it just means that a million people are stupid as
stuck in the underground in general and rose to the
without managers, a deal, or a gimmick
Revolutionary Volume 2, murder the
and leave your fucking rotten for the roaches and crickets