Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the loyal for being so loyal,
they'll be happy and very safe;
if not, off like a pigeon with his head cut off.
if it wasn't for the guillotine, would be no umbilical
cord. isn't it at our pinnical,
they make it so pinnocchio.
that's how i know it's so dumb, it could write its own article.
give me a break, the great big break that your back
and my fingers off
'til it's to laugh again, or at them.
put the back in my eyes again,
and away from the fire that out our loved ones
and its toll out on me.
'cause luck is always keeping minutes
we stay in play, so don't run out of tokens.
plus the needs warm bodies.
the pipes if you still got skulls;
if there's time to muddy the
then there's time to study the flow of the in the lay of the land
running off and eroding our
with red, white, and blue christmas
in the kingdom. i say it's a crop and i'm a lousy meal,
a lousy liar amongst so many bad
and not stimuli 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 fake some
like the camaraderie in the human lottery.
year 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 time to braincells to fry;
you all fry with me.
it must be, you all gonna fry me...

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

Forty women with cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't fixing anything; get picket signs,
go on strike, get a five cent raise; a champion. now
they're making citizens out of your children,
mapping personal growth frivolousness; so seperated,
yet drugged up to nowhereland. love feels artificial;
happiness, my pistol.
in the '20s, i'da been a socialist in a coal mine,
but it's and the rats love their mazes.
all so ethnospecific and opinionated,
divided we take our and make our appointments,
let the dolphins die, but who's gonna the humans?
i've been to a million cities and they're all the
people and talk the same,
girls all the same, employees all dream the same.
love your grid and your zone,
look out for the white-girl bombers,
look out for your time or your of mind
or entertainment above the fifth level.
stay ignorant and easily through conservative reforms
'til we're from the half-measures,
to the teeth to fund the caste system.
living it up for our
and i know nothing, but at least i
they vote green and drink their espressos,
discussing film festivals, all as a write-off. off your head;
body loves the work,
love your job, but it never love you like an automobile,
fetuses, peoples, and angels the same on the mobile.
if it wasn't for the blindfold, ask,
"what am i looking for, living for, for?"
"who's them? not i, but it must be the in me."

It must be the in me...