Luyện nghe bài hát Science Fiction

Little green men coming out of cans,
mines and Slaked Lime, 1966, he was sixteen,
it's Florida in the era of the dragline,
play it over the pit and dig up more of that shit,
and it with the Russians, who are traditionally hated,
you can imagine that a few years
that you'd run out of to say,
and be here every day.
Phospho~Gypsum, Radon-222,
the daughters over you,
on a transformer four stories high it walks like a
and on its base,
diggin' up that Phosphate.
Travel the
and you won't far to go to find an alien civilization,
a creature from a creation from outer space.
Sixty high for miles around;
one million of Phospho~Gypsum tailings rise to the sky.
Nearly half the world's fertilizer once lay beneath the
it got taken off 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 indict the 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 there's only work left
unlimited sunshine in a bottle of Tropicana,
with his friends and his 'Spooky Tooth' 8-track flipped down,
drivin' in his Mercury Monterey down to Springs,
saying that if we take the tailings,
and a building for the New York Stork Exchange,
then we could tell everyone
how we live in a state that digs by the ton
and you'll be by everyone,
and the government give us a Superfund,
and 'we're Radon, and that's Fiction.