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 like an asphalt dance
all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought boots
Were hunkerin' down in the to lie about their lives
And the places that been
And they on Coca Colas and be spittin' days work
Until the moon was a stray dog on the and
And the taverns would be swollen until the eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger meister Beer
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed naughahyde stools
And the witch spread out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over midriff
And the coiffed brunette curls Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to 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 last call, one game of 8 ball
will be putting the chairs on the tables
Someone come in say "Hey man, got
Any Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the in town would toss 'em down
And claim to fame as they stomped their
Yeah, boastin' about able to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they the gravel underneath the fenders
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 grinding gears, shiftin' first
Yeah and that goddamn just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya 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 that son of a
And you weave home, yeah, home
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American
Beneath a pin cushion sky, it's home to toast and

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

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