Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

And the Old National register was singing to the of
57 and 57 cents
And then its last call, one more game of 8
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 town would 'em down
And claim to fame as stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about able to get more ass than a toilet seat

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

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

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

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