Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

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

And the GMC's and the 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
home a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony
You're gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and goddamn tranny's just gettin' worse
the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop 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 that son of a bitch
And you home, yeah, weavin' home
Leavin' the joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American night
Beneath a pin cushion sky, it's to toast and honey

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

And the squint of first light
And it that lurked a weeping marquee in downtown Putnam
And they'd be up any minute now
like a bastard amber, velveeta yellow cab
On a rainy corner and be its horn, in every window in town