Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
pushers stretched out over midriff bulge
And the brunette curls over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Lauder, smells so sweet
And I up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall
And, and knit their brows to cover the
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 game of 8 ball
Bernice will be putting the on the tables
Someone come in say "Hey man, got
Any Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in would toss 'em down
And to fame as they stomped 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 tossed the gravel 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' into
Yeah and that tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
shop about money 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 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, it's home to and honey

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's over there
On the drainin' board, and the toilet's
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the telephone's
It's Mrs Randal and where the hell are my goddamn
What do you mean the dog chewed up my left
the porcelain poodles and the glass swans
Staring down from the knick shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' field
And a of Muckalucks scraping across the shag carpet

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