Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda quiet Putnam County
Kinda shy and as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane
was stretched out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib and store bought boots
Were hunkerin' down in the to lie about their lives
And the that they'd been
And they suck on Coca 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 slung over the meister Beer Guts
Swizzle legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out over the linoleum
Pedal pushers stretched out over bulge
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so
And I elbowed up at the with mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool concentration
And, and knit their brows to 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 game of 8
will be putting the chairs on the tables
Someone in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would toss 'em
And claim to fame as they stomped feet
Yeah, boastin' about being to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And they as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and goddamn tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on
Talkin' shop 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 sing that son of a
And you weave home, yeah, home
Leavin' the little joint in the dark, warm, narcotic American 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 drainin' board, and the toilet's
Ah, Christ shake the 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 from the knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the carpet

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