Luyện nghe bài hát Industrial Revolution

1]
Yeah nigga, Technique, metaphysics

The bling-bling era was cute but 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 parasites wanna percent of my ASCAP
trying to control perspective like an flashback
but here's a for every single record exec
get fucking hands out my pocket 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 and laugh when the sky electrocutes me
Immortal Technique in your thoughts darkening dreams
no ones as as good as me, they just got better marketing schemes
I leave ya to own destruction like sparking a fiend
you got jealousy in ya voice like star scream
and that's the primary reason that I hate faggots
I've been 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 revolutionaries personally
a thermometer and force feed his kids mercury
ANR's try me thinking they call shots
me a deal and a blanket full of small pox
your all getting shot, you little fucking bitches

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

2]
I want fifty three million for my collar stand
the Bush administration gave to the Taliban
and fuck packing grams nigga, learn to speak and
you wanna spend years as a government slave
two million in prison keep the government paid
stuck in a six by eight alive in the grave
i was made by revolution to to the masses
deep in the club toast the truth, for the glasses
I burn an orphanage just to bring to you bastards
innocent deep in a casket, fashion
of the flow like thugs passion
you motherfuckers never get me to stop blastin'
your better off asking Ariel for compasion
better off begging for twenty points for a label
your better off battling cancer telephone cabels
Technique chemically unstable, set to
foretold by the sea scrolls written in codes
so if your message ain't shit, 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 2, murder the critics
and your fucking body rotten for the roaches and crickets