Luyện nghe bài hát Audubon

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

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 played a storm on his three-fingered
'Cause that's all there was to do back there folks, except ta go downtown and haircuts

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

Well, I to Nashville and Tulsa and Dallas
And City gave my ear a callus
And I'll never forget announcers at three A.M.
They'd on an' say "Friends, there's 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 really got the sound
Yeah, a place where the truckers used ta stop on their way to Dees
There was all over them windowsills
Like "If the Devil get ya, then Roosevelt will"
And "The bank sell no beer, and we don't cash no checks."

Now them truckers talked about nothin' but haulin'
And the words was really appallin'
They thought them home-town gals was but toys for their amusement.
Chevys and Macks and big ol' stacks
They's always complainin' 'bout their livers an'
But they was fast-livin', strung-out, truck-drivin' son of a

Now the gal waitin' tables was classy
Had a rebuilt motor on a fairly new
And she knew how to handle them name was Mavis Davis
Yeah, she'd pour 'em a coffee, then 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
Weighed ninety-eight pounds; put on a show
ya of a couple a' Cub Scouts tryin' ta set up a Sears, Roebuck pup tent
There's no proposition she couldn't handle
ta her, nothin' could hold a candle
Not a of a lot upstairs, but from there on down, Disneyland!

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

Well, I'll never them days gone by
I's just a kid, 'bout four foot
But I never forgot that lesson an' 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 Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Home An' Keep On A-Truckin' Cafe
Oh, the Old Home An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On
Oh, the Old Home An' Keep On A-Truckin' Cafe