Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda quiet around County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought
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
the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and
And the taverns would be until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the slung over the Burger meister Beer Guts
stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over midriff
And the coiffed brunette curls over Maybelline
Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to cover the
Hank Williams songbook you like it not

And the Old National register was to the tune of
57 and 57 cents
And its last call, one more 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 town toss 'em down
And claim to fame as they stomped their
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more ass than a seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick anaconda of a
irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, shiftin' first
Yeah and that goddamn just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to and palominos and strawberry roans

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
money to borrow and goodnight kisses
As the spit out Charlie Rich
Man and he sure can sing son of a bitch
And you home, yeah, weavin' home
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, American night
Beneath a pin cushion sky, 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'
Mrs Randal and where the hell are my goddamn sandals?
What do you mean the dog up my left foot?
the porcelain poodles and the glass swans
Staring down from the knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' trips
And a pair of Muckalucks across the shag carpet

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