Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things always kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts of the
That was stretched out like an asphalt floor
Where all the old timers in bib and store bought boots
hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the places they'd been
And they suck on Coca Colas and be days work
Until the moon was a dog on the ridge and
And the taverns be swollen until the naked 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 linoleum
Pedal pushers stretched out midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, so sweet
And I elbowed up at the with mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and knit brows to cover the entire
Hank Williams whether you like it not

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

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were and wheezin'
And perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
home a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony
You're grinding gears, shiftin' into
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just worse
With the of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop money 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 sure can that son of a bitch
And you home, yeah, weavin' home
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American
Beneath a pin cushion sky, home to toast and honey

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

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