Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

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

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

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

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

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