Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung the Burger meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over stools
And the hazel spread out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls Maybelline eyes
Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters 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 be putting the chairs on the tables
Someone in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would toss 'em
And claim to fame as they stomped feet
Yeah, boastin' being able to get more ass than a toilet seat

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

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

startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's right over there
On the board, and the toilet's runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the ringin'
It's Mrs and where the hell 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 shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping the shag carpet

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