Luyện nghe bài hát Audubon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now Mavis had all of her in a row
Weighed ninety-eight pounds; put on a show
Remind ya of a a' Cub Scouts tryin' ta set up a Sears, Roebuck pup tent
no proposition that she couldn't handle
Next ta her, could hold a candle
Not a hell of a lot upstairs, but from 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 them counters and kick them stools
They's always pickin' fights the local fools
But one look at Mavis, and they'd turn into a a' tomcats

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