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 out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and bought boots
Were hunkerin' in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the places that been
And they suck on Colas and be spittin' days work
the moon was a stray 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 over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over midriff
And the coiffed brunette curls Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed
As Bubba and the moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and their brows to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook whether you it not

And the Old register was singing to the tune of
57 and 57 cents
And its last call, one more game 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 studs in town would 'em down
And claim to 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 Fords were and wheezin'
And perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
home a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to loan and 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 sing son of a bitch
And you weave home, yeah, home
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic night
Beneath a pin sky, it's home to toast and honey

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, lunch 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 goddamn
do you mean the dog chewed up my left foot?
With the porcelain poodles and the glass
Staring down from the knick shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' field
And a of Muckalucks scraping across the shag carpet

And the impending of first light
And it that lurked behind a weeping marquee in downtown
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 window in town