Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung the Burger meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the hazel spread out over the linoleum floors
pushers stretched out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls over eyes
Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and their brows to cover the entire
Hank songbook whether you like it not

And the Old National was singing to the tune of
57 dollars and 57
And then its last call, one game of 8 ball
Bernice will be the chairs on the tables
come in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town toss 'em down
And claim to as they stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get ass than a toilet seat

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

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

Gotta 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 Randal and where the are my goddamn sandals?
What do you mean the dog up my left foot?
With the poodles and the glass swans
Staring down from the knick shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' field
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the shag

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