Luyện nghe bài hát Audobon

Well, I was born in a town called
Southwest Iowa, right it oughta been
houses, fourteen saloons,
And a mill in nineteen-thirty.
Had a sign, said "Squealer Feeds"
And the bus came when they felt the need
And they stopped at a place in town called The Old Home Cafe

Now my daddy was a music man
He six-foot-seven, had big ol' hands
lost two fingers in a chainsaw but he could still play the violin
And Mom played piana, the keys in the middle
And Dad a storm on his three-fingered fiddle
'Cause that's all there was to do back there folks, except ta go downtown and watch

So I was on Dust Bowl tunes, you see
Had a radio an' no TV
It was so hot I had to wet the bed in the summer just to keep cool.
Yeah, many's a I'd lay awake
for a distant station break
Just a-settin' and a-wettin' an' that radio fry.

Well, I listened to Nashville and Tulsa and
And Oklahoma gave my ear a callus
And I'll forget them announcers at three A.M.
They'd on an' say "Friends, there's many a soul who needs us
"So send them letters an' ta Jesus
"That's friends, in care a' Del Rio, Texas."

But the place I remember, on the a' town
Was the place where you really got the sound
Yeah, a place where the truckers used ta stop on their way to Dees
There was signs all over windowsills
Like "If the don't get ya, then Roosevelt will"
And "The bank don't no beer, and we don't cash no checks."

Now them truckers never talked nothin' but haulin'
And the words was really appallin'
They thought them home-town gals was but toys for their amusement.
Rode Chevys and and big ol' stacks
always complainin' 'bout their livers an' backs
But they was fast-livin', strung-out, truck-drivin' son of a

Now the gal tables was really classy
Had a motor on a fairly new chassis
And she knew how to them truckers; name was Mavis Davis
Yeah, pour 'em a coffee, then she'd bat her eyes
Then she'd listen to 'em 'er some big fat lies
Then she'd ask 'em how the and kids was, back there in Joplin?

Now Mavis had all of her in a row
ninety-eight pounds; put on quite a show
Remind ya of a couple a' Cub Scouts tryin' ta set up a Sears, pup tent
There's no proposition she couldn't handle
Next ta her, nothin' could hold a
Not a hell of a lot upstairs, but there on down, Disneyland!

Now the truckers, on the hand, was really crass
They remind ya of fingernails a-scratchin' on
A-stompin' on in, leavin' all over the Montgomery Ward linoleum
Yeah, they'd them counters and kick them stools
They's pickin' fights with the local fools
But one at Mavis, and they'd turn into a bunch a' tomcats

Well, I'll never them days gone by
I's just a kid, 'bout four foot
But I never that lesson an' pickin' and singin', the country way
Yeah, them walkin', truck stop blues
back ta life in seventy-two
As "The Old Home Filler-up An' On A-Truckin' Cafe"

Oh, the Old Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On
Oh, the Old Home An' Keep On A-Truckin' Cafe
Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On
Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On
Oh, the Old Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin' Cafe