Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess were always kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts of the
That was stretched out like an dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib and store bought boots
Were down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the that they'd been
And they suck on Coca Colas and be spittin' days
Until the 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
stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch spread out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters in pool hall concentration
And, and knit brows to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook you like it not

And the Old National register was singing to the of
57 dollars and 57
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 Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would toss 'em
And claim to fame as stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and
And perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's gettin' worse
the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's over there
On the board, and the toilet's runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the ringin'
It's Mrs Randal and the hell are my goddamn sandals?
do you mean the dog chewed up my left foot?
With the porcelain poodles and the swans
down 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 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 corner and be blowin' its horn, in every window in town