Luyện nghe bài hát Industrial Revolution

1]
Yeah nigga, Technique, metaphysics

The bling-bling era was but it's about to be done
I leave you of clips like the moon blocking the sun
my metaphors are like herpes but harder to catch
like an escape tunnel in prison I started scratch
and now these parasites percent of my ASCAP
trying to control like an acid flashback
but here's a quotable for every single record
get your fucking hands out my 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 laugh when the sky me
Immortal Technique stuck in your thoughts dreams
no ones as as good as me, they just got better marketing schemes
I leave ya to your own destruction sparking a fiend
you got jealousy in ya voice like star scream
and that's the primary reason that I yall faggots
I've been nice since niggas got killed over jackets
and Reebok that didn't do shit for the sneaker
I'm a heatseaker with features that'll reach through the
and murder counter personally
break a thermometer and feed his kids mercury
try jerking me thinking they call shots
offered me a and a blanket full of small pox
your all getting shot, you little fucking trecherous

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

2]
I want fifty three dollars for my collar stand
like the Bush gave to the Taliban
and fuck packing grams nigga, learn to and behave
you wanna spend twenty years as a government
two people in prison keep the government paid
in a six by eight cell alive in the grave
i was made by revolution to to the masses
deep in the club toast the truth, for the glasses
I an orphanage just to bring heat to you bastards
innocent in a casket, columbian fashion
intoxicated of the flow like passion
you motherfuckers will get me to stop blastin'
better off asking Ariel Sharon for compasion
your better off begging for points for a label
your off battling cancer under telephone cabels
Technique unstable, set to explode
foretold by the dead sea written in codes
so if message ain't shit, fuck the records you sold
'cause if you go platinum, it's got to do with luck
it means that a million people are stupid as fuck
stuck in the underground in general and to the limit
without managers, a deal, or a gimmick
Revolutionary 2, murder the critics
and leave your fucking body rotten for the roaches and