Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

And the Old National register was singing to the of
57 dollars and 57
And then its call, one more game of 8 ball
Bernice will be putting the on the tables
Someone come in say "Hey man, 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' about being to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and
And they perculated as they tossed the underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick anaconda of a
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
and that goddamn tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and 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 spit out Charlie Rich
Man and he sure can that son of a bitch
And you weave home, yeah, weavin'
the little joint winking 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 up my left foot?
With the porcelain and the glass swans
Staring down the knick knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping the shag carpet

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