Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda around Putnam County
Kinda shy and as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was stretched out an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought
Were hunkerin' down in the to lie about their lives
And the places that been
And they suck on Colas and be spittin' days work
Until the moon was a dog on the ridge and
And the taverns would be swollen the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde
And the witch hazel spread out over the linoleum
Pedal pushers out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls Maybelline eyes
Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and their brows to cover the entire
Hank songbook whether you like it not

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

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the
home a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, shiftin' first
and that goddamn tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on
Talkin' shop about to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

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

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