Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the servants 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 so dumb, it could even write 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 coals back in my again,
and away from the fire that burns out our loved
and takes its out on me.
'cause good luck is keeping minutes
we gotta in play, so don't run out of tokens.
plus the needs warm bodies.
plug the pipes if you still got
if there's to muddy the hands
then there's time to study the flow of the in the lay of the land
running off and our relatives
red, white, and blue christmas lights
in the greatest kingdom. i say it's a and i'm a lousy meal,
a lousy liar amongst so bad actresses
and not enough stimuli left to light an pilot.
so how can i not be
my own cliche, my would-be
caught up with image than speaking than truth,
and if that's the only truth you can come up with, go fake some
the rented camaraderie in the human lottery.
whatever it is, i'm still sick.
can't the sky for being gray
or the bad that we live out every day.
twenty minutes outside the city, or fifteen years 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 accidents than
no of the overkill.

Forty year-old women cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't fixing anything; get your signs,
go on strike, get a five raise; your a champion. now
making model citizens out of your children,
mapping personal 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 2000-something and the rats love their mazes.
it's all so and opinionated,
divided we take our antidepressants and our appointments,
let the dolphins die, but who's save the humans?
i've been to a million and they're all the same:
people and talk the same,
all flirt the same, employees all dream the same.
love your grid and comfort zone,
look out for the white-girl bombers,
look out for your time or your of mind
or above the fifth grade level.
stay ignorant and easily corralled through conservative
'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 green and drink their espressos,
discussing film festivals, all as a write-off. off with your
body the dirty work,
love your job, but it will never love you an automobile,
fetuses, peoples, and hang 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 must be the in me...