Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the loyal for being so loyal,
they'll be happy and very safe;
if not, sent off like a pigeon with his cut off.
if it wasn't for the guillotine, would be no umbilical
cord. it pitiful? at our pinnical,
make it sound so pinnocchio.
that's how i it's so dumb, it could even write its own article.
give me a break, the great big break that your back
and chews my 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 takes its out on me.
good luck is always keeping minutes
we stay in play, so don't run out of tokens.
the machine needs warm bodies.
plug the pipes if you still got
if there's time to the hands
then time to study the flow of the blood in the lay of the land
off and eroding our relatives
with red, white, and 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 stimuli left to light an oven pilot.
so how can i not be
my own cliche, my peers
more caught up with than speaking than truth,
and if that's the only you can come up with, go fake some bravery
the rented camaraderie in the human lottery.
whatever it is, i'm still sick.
can't the sky for being gray
or the bad poem that we out every day.
twenty outside the city, or fifteen years from over the hill,
with enough time to kill to fry;
you all gonna fry me.
it must be, you all gonna fry me...

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

Forty year-old women with and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't anything; get your picket signs,
go on strike, get a five cent raise; a champion. now
they're making citizens out of your children,
personal growth through frivolousness; so seperated,
yet drugged up to nowhereland. even love 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 the humans?
i've been to a million and they're all the same:
laugh 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 piece of
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 know nothing, but at i know;
while they vote green and their espressos,
discussing film festivals, all as a write-off. off your head;
loves the dirty work,
love your job, but it will never love you an automobile,
fetuses, peoples, and angels the same on the mobile.
if it for the blindfold, you'd ask,
"what am i looking for, for, breathing for?"
"who's them? not i, but it be the plutonium in me."

It be the plutonium in me...