Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the loyal for being so loyal,
soon be happy and very safe;
if not, off like a pigeon with his head cut off.
if it for the guillotine, there would be no umbilical
cord. isn't it at our pinnical,
make it sound so pinnocchio.
that's how i know it's so dumb, it even write its own article.
give me a break, the great big break that breaks back
and my fingers off
'til it's to laugh again, or at them.
put the coals back in my again,
and away from the fire that burns out our ones
and takes its out on me.
'cause luck is always keeping minutes
we gotta stay in play, so run out of tokens.
plus the machine warm bodies.
plug the pipes if you got skulls;
if time to muddy the hands
then there's time to the flow of the blood in the lay of the land
off and eroding our relatives
with red, white, and blue lights
in the greatest kingdom. i say a crop and i'm a lousy meal,
a lousy liar so many bad actresses
and not enough left to light an oven pilot.
so how can i not be
my own cliche, my would-be
more up with image than speaking than truth,
and if that's the only truth you can come up with, go some bravery
like the rented in the human lottery.
whatever it is, i'm still sick.
can't hate the sky for being
or the bad poem that we out every day.
twenty minutes the city, or fifteen years from over the hill,
with enough to kill braincells to fry;
you all gonna fry me.
it must be, you all fry with me...

We who die in flying accidents than firefights;
no of the overkill.

year-old women with cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't fixing get your picket signs,
go on strike, get a five cent your a champion. now
they're model citizens out of your children,
mapping personal growth through so seperated,
yet drugged up to nowhereland. even feels artificial;
happiness, my pistol.
in the '20s, i'da a socialist in a colorado coal mine,
but it's 2000-something and the rats their mazes.
all so ethnospecific and opinionated,
divided we our antidepressants and make our appointments,
let the die, but who's gonna save the humans?
i've been to a million cities and all the same:
people and talk the same,
girls all flirt the same, all dream the same.
love grid and your comfort zone,
look out for the white-girl bombers,
look out for your or your piece of mind
or entertainment the fifth grade level.
stay ignorant and easily corralled through reforms
'til broke from the half-measures,
taxed to the to fund the caste system.
it up for our stereotypes
and i know nothing, but at i know;
while they vote green and their espressos,
discussing festivals, all as a write-off. off with your head;
loves the dirty work,
love your job, but it will love you like an automobile,
fetuses, peoples, and angels the same on the mobile.
if it for the blindfold, you'd ask,
"what am i for, living for, breathing for?"
"who's them? not i, but it be the plutonium in me."

It be the plutonium in me...