Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

And the Old National register was to the tune of
57 dollars and 57
And then its last call, one more 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 claim to fame as they their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more ass than a toilet

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

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

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

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