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 could even its own article.
give me a break, the great big break breaks your back
and my fingers off
'til safe to laugh again, or at them.
put the coals in my eyes again,
and from the fire that burns out our loved ones
and takes its out on me.
'cause good is always keeping minutes
we gotta in play, so don't run out of tokens.
plus the needs warm bodies.
plug the if you still got skulls;
if time to muddy the hands
then there's time to study the flow of the blood in the lay of the
running off and our relatives
red, white, and blue christmas lights
in the greatest kingdom. i say it's a crop and i'm a meal,
a lousy liar amongst so bad actresses
and not enough left to light an oven pilot.
so how can i not be
my own cliche, my peers
more caught up image than speaking than truth,
and if that's the only you can come up with, go fake some bravery
like the camaraderie in the human lottery.
year it is, i'm still sick.
can't the sky for being gray
or the bad poem that we live out day.
twenty minutes outside the city, or fifteen from over the hill,
with enough time to kill braincells to
you all gonna fry me.
it must be, you all gonna fry me...

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

Forty year-old with cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't anything; get your picket signs,
go on strike, get a cent raise; your a champion. now
they're making model citizens out of children,
personal growth through frivolousness; so seperated,
yet up to nowhereland. even love feels artificial;
happiness, my pistol.
in the '20s, been a socialist in a colorado coal mine,
but 2000-something and the rats love their mazes.
it's all so and opinionated,
divided we our antidepressants and make our appointments,
let the dolphins die, but who's gonna save the
i've to a million cities and they're all the same:
laugh and talk the same,
girls all flirt the same, employees all the same.
love grid and your comfort zone,
look out for the white-girl bombers,
out for your time or your piece of mind
or entertainment the fifth grade level.
ignorant and easily corralled through conservative reforms
'til we're from the half-measures,
taxed to the teeth to fund the system.
it up for our stereotypes
and i know nothing, but at i know;
while they vote green and drink espressos,
discussing film festivals, all as a write-off. off with head;
loves the dirty work,
love your job, but it will never you like an automobile,
fetuses, peoples, and angels hang the on the mobile.
if it wasn't for the blindfold, ask,
"what am i for, living for, breathing for?"
"who's them? not i, but it be the plutonium in me."

It must be the in me...