Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

And the Old register was singing to the tune of
57 dollars and 57
And then its last call, one game of 8 ball
will 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 'em down
And claim to fame as they stomped their
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and
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', with a box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, shiftin' first
Yeah and that goddamn just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

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

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