Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster over the Burger meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde
And the witch hazel spread out the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over midriff
And the coiffed brunette curls over Maybelline
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so
And I elbowed up at the counter 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 National was singing to the tune of
57 and 57 cents
And its last call, one more game of 8 ball
Bernice will be the chairs on the tables
Someone come in say "Hey man, got
Any Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town toss 'em down
And to fame as they stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being 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, anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a saddle
You're grinding gears, shiftin' first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and 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 spit out Charlie Rich
Man and he sure can sing that son of a
And you weave home, yeah, weavin'
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American
Beneath a pin cushion sky, home to toast and honey

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

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