Luyện nghe bài hát Audubon

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

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

So I was raised on Dust 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, a night I'd lay awake
A-waitin' for a station break
Just a-settin' and a-wettin' an' a-lettin' that fry.

Well, I listened to Nashville and and Dallas
And Oklahoma City my ear a callus
And I'll never them announcers at three A.M.
They'd come on an' say "Friends, many a soul who needs us
"So send them letters an' cards ta
"That's J-E-S-U-S friends, in a' Del Rio, Texas."

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

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

Now the gal waitin' was really classy
Had a rebuilt motor on a new chassis
And she knew how to handle them truckers; name was Mavis
Yeah, she'd pour 'em a coffee, then she'd bat her
Then listen to 'em tell '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
Weighed pounds; put on quite a show
Remind ya of a a' Cub Scouts tryin' ta set up a Sears, Roebuck pup tent
There's no proposition that she 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' tracks all over the Montgomery Ward
Yeah, they'd pound them counters and kick them
They's always pickin' with the local fools
But one look at Mavis, and they'd turn into a a' tomcats

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

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