Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the loyal for being so loyal,
soon be happy and very safe;
if not, sent off like a pigeon his head cut off.
if it wasn't for the guillotine, would be no umbilical
cord. it pitiful? at our pinnical,
they 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 that breaks your back
and chews my off
'til safe to laugh again, or at them.
put the coals back in my again,
and away the fire that burns out our loved ones
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 time to muddy the hands
then there's time to study the of the blood in the lay of the land
running off and our relatives
with red, white, and blue christmas
in the greatest kingdom. i say it's a crop and i'm a meal,
a lousy amongst 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 caught up with than speaking than truth,
and if that's the only truth you can come up with, go fake bravery
like the rented in the human lottery.
year it is, i'm still sick.
can't hate the sky for gray
or the bad poem that we live out day.
twenty minutes outside the city, or years from over the hill,
with enough time to kill braincells to
you all fry with me.
it must be, you all gonna fry me...

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

year-old women with cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't fixing anything; get 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 drugged up to nowhereland. even love feels
happiness, my pistol.
in the '20s, i'da a socialist in a colorado coal mine,
but it's and the rats love their mazes.
it's all so and opinionated,
divided we take our and make our appointments,
let the die, but who's gonna save the humans?
been to a million cities and they're all the same:
people laugh and the same,
girls all the same, employees all dream the same.
your grid and your comfort zone,
look out for the suicide bombers,
look out for your time or piece of mind
or entertainment above the fifth level.
stay ignorant and easily through conservative reforms
'til broke from the half-measures,
to the teeth to fund the caste system.
living it up for our
and i nothing, but at least i know;
they vote green and drink their espressos,
discussing festivals, all as a write-off. off with your head;
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 wasn't for the blindfold, ask,
"what am i for, living for, breathing for?"
"who's them? not i, but it must be the in me."

It must be the in me...