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 like the moon blocking the sun
my metaphors are like herpes but harder to catch
like an escape tunnel in I started from scratch
and now these parasites wanna of my ASCAP
trying to control perspective an acid flashback
but here's a quotable for single record exec
get your fucking hands out my nigga like Malcolm X
but ain't a movie, I'm not a fan or a groupie
and I'm not that of cat, you can afford to miss if you shoot me
curse the heavens and laugh when the sky me
Immortal Technique stuck in your thoughts dreams
no ones as good as good as me, they just got better 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
been nice since niggas got killed over 8-ball jackets
and Reebok that didn't do shit for the sneaker
I'm a heatseaker with features that'll through the speaker
and murder counter revolutionaries
break a thermometer and feed his kids mercury
ANR's try me thinking they call shots
offered me a deal and a blanket full of pox
your all getting shot, you little trecherous bitches

This is the business, and ya'll ain't getting nothing for
and if you devils play broke, then I'm taking 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 packing grams nigga, learn to speak and behave
you wanna spend twenty years as a government
two million people in keep the government paid
stuck in a six by cell alive in the grave
i was made by to speak to the masses
deep in the club the truth, reach for the glasses
I burn an orphanage just to bring heat to you
deep in a casket, columbian fashion
intoxicated of the flow like thugs
you motherfuckers never get me to stop blastin'
better off asking Ariel Sharon for compasion
your off begging for twenty points for a label
your off battling cancer under telephone cabels
Technique unstable, set to explode
foretold by the sea scrolls written in codes
so if your message shit, fuck the records you sold
'cause if you go platinum, got nothing to do with luck
it just means that a million people are as fuck
stuck in the underground in general and rose to the
without managers, a deal, or a gimmick
Volume 2, murder the critics
and your fucking body rotten for the roaches and crickets