Luyện nghe bài hát Production

This man may a shit load to prove
He's got to a score against the groove
Infinite orgasm, endless joy and
thunder to my ears, like a holy rain

An aural of waking, a wash in purple paint
And a of the flowers in your yard
rays of healing intensify the feeling
Of hatred towards the things you say I

Fear a man-child, his soul and
Pathetic he thinks forever
Heard you caused a landslide, walking
Saw you slide the man-child under coat

Product of generation
Product of your
Product of a plan
of a holy man

Product of
of decaying minds
Product of your corruption
of, production, production