Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung the Burger meister Beer Guts
Swizzle legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so
And I elbowed up at the counter with feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and knit brows to cover the entire
Williams songbook whether you like it not

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

And the GMC's and the 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath 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 of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
With to borrow and goodnight kisses
As the radio spit out Charlie
Man and he sure can that son of a bitch
And you home, yeah, weavin' home
the little joint 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 money's right over there
On the drainin' board, and the runnin'
Ah, shake the handle and the telephone's ringin'
It's Mrs Randal and the hell are my goddamn sandals?
What do you mean the dog chewed up my foot?
With the porcelain and the glass swans
Staring down from the knick knack
And the parent permission slips for the kids' field
And a pair of scraping across the shag carpet

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