Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out the linoleum floors
Pedal stretched out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed curls over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the with mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
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 then its last call, one more of 8 ball
will be putting the chairs on the tables
Someone come in say "Hey man, got
Any Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in would toss 'em down
And claim to fame as they stomped their
Yeah, boastin' being able to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the
Weave home a wet, slick of a 2-lane
irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just gettin'
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to loan and palominos and strawberry

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

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

And the squint of first light
And it that lurked behind a weeping in downtown Putnam
And be pullin' up any minute now
Just like a bastard amber, yellow cab
On a rainy corner and be blowin' its horn, in window in town