Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda quiet around 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 down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the that they'd been
And suck on Coca Colas and be spittin' days work
the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and
And the taverns would be swollen until the eye of 2 A.M.

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

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

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel the fenders
Weave home a wet, anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya 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 sure can that son of a bitch
And you home, yeah, weavin' home
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic night
a pin cushion sky, it's home to toast and honey

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch right over there
On the board, and the toilet's runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the 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 for the kids' 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 Putnam
And they'd be pullin' up any now
Just like a bastard amber, yellow cab
On a rainy and be blowin' its horn, in every window in town