Luyện nghe bài hát Science Fiction

Little green men out of paint cans,
Phosphate and Slaked Lime, 1966, he was sixteen,
it's Central in the era of the dragline,
play it the pit and dig up more of that green shit,
and trade it the Russians, who are traditionally hated,
you can that after a few years
you'd run out of things to say,
and be here every day.
Phospho~Gypsum, Radon-222,
the daughters over you,
on a transformer four stories it walks like a cripple
and on its base,
up that Dicalcium Phosphate.
Travel the
and you have far to go to find an alien civilization,
a creature from a creation that's from space.
Sixty high for miles 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 that's left behind.
Hey, this is a mess!
'what are you about?
I'll it up later.
No, not the way it is at all, I'm not a miner I don't care,
man, that's of the system, I'm punk,
but who's gonna the Wall Street Journal, just me and Bob Ray,
it's just part of the system here on the surface of the
and the day has come when there's only left
There's unlimited sunshine in a of Tropicana,
with his friends and his Tooth' 8-track flipped upside down,
drivin' in his Mercury Monterey to Lithia Springs,
saying that if we take the tailings,
and build a building for the New Stork Exchange,
then we could tell about
how we live in a state that Radon by the ton
and be loved by everyone,
and the government will us a Superfund,
and 'we're Radon, and that's Fiction.