Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung over the meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to cover the
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 chairs on the
Someone 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 claim to as they stomped 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 perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just gettin'
With the melodies of 'See ya and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

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

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