Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts of the
was stretched out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old in bib jeans and store bought boots
hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the that they'd been
And they suck on Coca Colas and be spittin' work
the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and
And the would be swollen until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung the Burger meister Beer Guts
stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal stretched out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls over Maybelline
Wearing Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over drinks
As and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to cover the
Hank Williams songbook you like it not

And the Old National register was singing to the of
57 and 57 cents
And its last call, one more game of 8 ball
Bernice be putting the chairs on the tables
Someone in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would toss 'em
And claim to fame as stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more ass a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they the gravel underneath the fenders
home a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, shiftin' into
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just gettin'
With the melodies of 'See ya and screwdrivers on carburettors
shop about money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
With money to borrow and goodnight
As the spit out Charlie Rich
Man and he sure can sing that son of a
And you weave home, yeah, weavin'
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, American night
Beneath a pin cushion sky, it's home to toast and

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

And the impending of first light
And it that behind a weeping marquee in downtown Putnam
And be pullin' up any minute now
Just like a amber, velveeta yellow cab
On a rainy corner and be blowin' its horn, in every in town