Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the loyal for being so loyal,
soon they'll be happy and very
if not, sent off 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 that breaks back
and my fingers off
it's safe to laugh again, or at them.
put the back in my eyes again,
and away from the fire that burns out our ones
and its toll out on me.
good 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 to study the flow of the blood in the lay of the land
running off and eroding our
with red, white, and blue lights
in the greatest kingdom. i say it's a and i'm a lousy meal,
a lousy liar so many bad actresses
and not enough stimuli to light an oven pilot.
so how can i not be
my own cliche, my peers
more up with image than speaking than truth,
and if the only truth you can come up with, go fake some bravery
like the camaraderie in the human lottery.
whatever it is, i'm still sick.
can't hate the sky for being
or the bad that we live out every day.
twenty minutes outside the city, or fifteen years over the hill,
with enough time to kill to fry;
you all fry with me.
it be, you all gonna fry with me...

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

Forty year-old women cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
fixing anything; get your picket signs,
go on strike, get a five raise; your a champion. now
they're making citizens out of your children,
mapping growth through frivolousness; so seperated,
yet drugged up to nowhereland. even love feels
happiness, my pistol.
in the '20s, i'da been a in a colorado coal mine,
but it's and the rats love their mazes.
all so ethnospecific and opinionated,
divided we take our antidepressants and our appointments,
let the dolphins die, but who's gonna the humans?
i've been to a million cities and all the same:
people laugh and the same,
girls all flirt the same, employees all the same.
love your and your comfort zone,
out for the white-girl suicide bombers,
look out for your or your piece of mind
or entertainment the fifth grade level.
ignorant and easily corralled through conservative reforms
'til we're broke the half-measures,
to the teeth to fund the caste system.
living it up for our
and i know nothing, but at i know;
they vote green and drink their espressos,
discussing film festivals, all as a write-off. off with your
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 not i, but it must be the plutonium in me."

It must be the in me...