Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the servants for being so loyal,
soon be happy and very safe;
if not, sent off a pigeon with his head cut off.
if it wasn't for the guillotine, there 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 even write its own article.
give me a break, the great big break breaks your back
and my fingers off
'til safe to laugh again, or at them.
put the back in my eyes again,
and from the fire that burns out our loved ones
and its toll out on me.
'cause good luck is keeping minutes
we gotta stay in play, so run out of tokens.
plus the needs warm bodies.
plug the if you still got skulls;
if there's time to the hands
then there's to study the flow 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 and i'm a lousy meal,
a liar amongst so many bad actresses
and not stimuli 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 some bravery
like the rented in the human lottery.
whatever year it is, i'm sick.
hate 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,
enough time to kill braincells to fry;
you all fry with me.
it must be, you all gonna fry me...

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

year-old women with cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't fixing anything; get your signs,
go on strike, get a cent raise; your a champion. now
they're making model out of your children,
mapping personal growth frivolousness; so seperated,
yet drugged up to nowhereland. even love feels
happiness, my pistol.
in the '20s, i'da been a socialist in a 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 gonna save the
i've been to a million cities and all the same:
people laugh and the same,
girls all flirt the same, all dream the same.
love grid and your comfort zone,
out for the white-girl suicide bombers,
look out for time or your piece of mind
or above the fifth grade level.
stay ignorant and easily corralled through conservative
'til we're broke the half-measures,
taxed to the to fund the caste system.
it up for our stereotypes
and i know nothing, but at least i
while they vote green and their espressos,
discussing festivals, all as a write-off. off with your head;
body the dirty work,
love job, but it will never love you like an automobile,
fetuses, peoples, and angels 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 be the plutonium in me...