Luyện nghe bài hát Science Fiction

Little green men out of paint 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 of that green shit,
and trade it the Russians, who are traditionally hated,
you can imagine that after a few
that you'd run out of to say,
and I'll be every day.
Phospho~Gypsum, Radon-222,
the daughters over you,
on a transformer four stories high it like a cripple
and on its base,
up that Dicalcium Phosphate.
Travel the
and you won't far to go to find an alien civilization,
a creature from a creation from outer space.
Sixty foot 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 taken off sandbar,
and now there's something left behind.
Hey, place is a mess!
are you takin' about?
I'll it up later.
No, that's not the way it is at all, I'm not a 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,
just part of the system here on the surface of the planet
and the day has come when there's only work
unlimited sunshine in a bottle of Tropicana,
with his friends and his 'Spooky 8-track flipped upside down,
drivin' in his Mercury Monterey to Lithia Springs,
saying that if we could the tailings,
and build a for the New York Stork Exchange,
then we tell everyone about
how we live in a state digs Radon by the ton
and be loved by everyone,
and the will give us a Superfund,
and Radon, and that's Science Fiction.