Luyện nghe bài hát Industrial Revolution

1]
Yeah nigga, Technique, metaphysics

The bling-bling era was cute but it's to be done
I leave you full of clips like the moon the sun
my metaphors are like herpes but harder to catch
like an tunnel in prison I started from scratch
and now parasites wanna percent of my ASCAP
trying to control perspective an acid flashback
but here's a quotable for every record exec
get your fucking hands out my pocket nigga Malcolm X
but this a movie, I'm not a fan or a groupie
and I'm not that type of cat, you can afford to if you shoot me
curse the heavens and laugh when the sky me
Immortal stuck in your thoughts darkening dreams
no ones as good as as me, they just got better marketing schemes
I leave ya to your own like sparking a fiend
'cause you got jealousy in ya like star scream
and that's the reason that I hate yall faggots
I've been nice since niggas got killed 8-ball jackets
and Reebok that didn't do shit for the sneaker
I'm a heatseaker with that'll reach through the speaker
and counter revolutionaries personally
break a thermometer and force feed his kids
ANR's try jerking me thinking call shots
offered me a and a blanket full of small pox
your all getting shot, you little fucking trecherous

This is the business, and ya'll ain't getting nothing for
and if you devils play broke, I'm taking your company
you can call it or restitution
and load nigga, industrial revolution

2]
I want fifty three million dollars for my collar
like the administration gave to the Taliban
and fuck packing grams nigga, learn to speak and
you wanna spend twenty years as a slave
two million people in prison the government paid
in a six by eight cell alive in the grave
i was by revolution to speak to the masses
deep in the club the truth, reach for the glasses
I burn an orphanage just to bring heat to you
innocent deep in a casket, columbian
intoxicated of the flow thugs passion
you motherfuckers will never get me to blastin'
your better off asking Ariel Sharon for
your better off for twenty points for a label
better off battling cancer under telephone cabels
Technique chemically unstable, set to
foretold by the dead sea scrolls in codes
so if your message ain't shit, the records you sold
if you go platinum, it's got nothing to do with luck
it just means that a million people are stupid as
stuck in the in general and rose to the limit
without managers, a deal, or a gimmick
Revolutionary Volume 2, murder the
and leave your body rotten for the roaches and crickets