Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

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

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were and wheezin'
And they perculated as tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a 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 loan and palominos and roans

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
With money to borrow and goodnight
As the radio spit out Charlie
Man and he can sing that son of a bitch
And you home, yeah, weavin' home
Leavin' the little winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American night
Beneath a pin cushion sky, home to toast and honey

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

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