Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I things were always kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the of the 2-lane
That was stretched out like an asphalt dance
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store boots
Were hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about their
And the places that they'd
And they suck on Coca and be spittin' days work
Until the was a stray dog on the ridge and
And the would be swollen until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger meister Beer
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over midriff
And the coiffed brunette curls Maybelline eyes
Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings mixed drinks
As Bubba and the moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and their brows to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook you like it not

And the Old National was singing to the tune of
57 and 57 cents
And then its call, one more game of 8 ball
Bernice will be the chairs on the tables
Someone in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would 'em down
And claim to fame as they their feet
Yeah, boastin' being able to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And they as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', a tool box and a pony saddle
You're gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' about money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
With money to borrow and goodnight
As the radio spit out Rich
Man and he sure can sing son of a bitch
And you weave home, yeah, home
Leavin' the joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American night
a pin cushion sky, it's home to toast and honey

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch right over there
On the board, and the toilet's runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the and the telephone's ringin'
Mrs Randal and where the hell are my goddamn sandals?
What do you mean the dog up my left foot?
the porcelain poodles and the glass swans
Staring down from the knack shelf
And the parent permission for the kids' field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the shag

And the impending squint of first
And it that lurked behind a weeping in downtown Putnam
And be pullin' up any minute now
Just like a bastard amber, yellow cab
On a corner and be blowin' its horn, in every window in town