Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda quiet Putnam County
shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was stretched out an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib and store bought boots
Were hunkerin' down in the to lie about their lives
And the places that been
And they suck on Colas 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 over the Burger Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs over naughahyde stools
And the witch spread out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters in pool hall concentration
And, and knit brows to cover the entire
Hank songbook whether you like it not

And the Old National register was singing to the of
57 dollars and 57
And its last call, one more game 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 town would 'em down
And claim to fame as they stomped their
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get ass than a toilet seat

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

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

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

And the impending of first light
And it that lurked behind a weeping 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 window in town