Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

And the Old register was singing to the tune of
57 and 57 cents
And then its last call, one more game of 8
Bernice will be putting the 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' about being able to get more ass than a seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the
Weave home a wet, 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 goddamn just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to and palominos and strawberry roans

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

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's right over
On the drainin' board, and the toilet's
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the ringin'
It's Mrs Randal and where the hell are my sandals?
What do you mean the dog chewed up my foot?
With the porcelain poodles and the swans
Staring down the knick knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping the shag carpet

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