Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the servants for being so loyal,
soon they'll be happy and very
if not, off like a pigeon with his head cut off.
if it for the guillotine, there 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 even its own article.
give me a break, the great big break that breaks back
and my fingers off
'til it's safe to 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.
'cause good luck is always minutes
we gotta stay in play, so run out of tokens.
plus the needs warm bodies.
plug the pipes if you got skulls;
if there's to muddy 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 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 enough left to light an oven pilot.
so how can i not be
my own cliche, my would-be
more caught up with image 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 the sky for being gray
or the bad poem we live out every day.
twenty minutes outside the city, or fifteen years over the hill,
with enough time to kill braincells to
you all gonna fry me.
it must be, you all fry with me...

We who die in more accidents 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 raise; your a champion. now
they're model citizens out of your children,
mapping growth through frivolousness; so seperated,
yet drugged up to nowhereland. love feels 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 gonna save the humans?
i've to a million cities and they're all the same:
people and talk the same,
girls all flirt the same, all dream the same.
your grid and your comfort zone,
look out for the white-girl bombers,
look out for your or your piece of mind
or above the fifth grade level.
stay ignorant and corralled 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;
they vote green and drink their espressos,
discussing festivals, all as a write-off. off with your head;
body loves the 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 looking for, living for, for?"
"who's not i, but it must be the plutonium in me."

It must be the in me...