Luyện nghe bài hát Science Fiction

Little green men coming out of cans,
Phosphate mines and Lime, 1966, he was sixteen,
Central Florida in the era of the dragline,
play it over the pit and dig up more of that shit,
and trade it the Russians, who are traditionally hated,
you can imagine after a few years
you'd run out of things to say,
and I'll be every day.
Phospho~Gypsum, Radon-222,
the daughters over you,
on a four stories high it walks like a cripple
and on its base,
diggin' up Dicalcium Phosphate.
Travel the
and you have far to go to find an alien civilization,
a creature from a creation from outer space.
Sixty foot high for around;
one tons of Phospho~Gypsum tailings rise to the sky.
Nearly the world's fertilizer once lay beneath the overburden;
it got off this sandbar,
and now there's something left behind.
Hey, this is a mess!
'what are you about?
clean it up later.
No, not the way it is at all, I'm not a miner I don't care,
man, pant of the system, I'm punk,
but gonna indict the Wall Street Journal, just me and Bob Ray,
just part of the system here on the surface of the planet
and the day has come when there's only work
There's unlimited in a bottle of Tropicana,
with his friends and his 'Spooky Tooth' 8-track flipped down,
in his Mercury Monterey down to Lithia Springs,
saying that if we take the tailings,
and build a building for the New Stork Exchange,
then we could tell everyone
how we live in a state that Radon by the ton
and you'll be by everyone,
and the will give us a Superfund,
and 'we're Radon, and that's Fiction.