Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung over the meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over stools
And the witch spread out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out midriff bulge
And the brunette curls over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings mixed drinks
As and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their to cover the entire
Hank Williams 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
Someone come in say "Hey man, got
Any Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town toss 'em down
And claim to fame as they stomped feet
Yeah, about being able to get more 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
Weave a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
Yeah and goddamn tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to 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, weavin'
the little joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American night
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, Christ shake the handle and the ringin'
It's Mrs Randal and where the hell are my goddamn
What do you mean the dog chewed up my left
With the porcelain poodles and the glass
Staring down from the knick knack
And the parent slips for the kids' field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the shag

And the impending squint of first
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 its horn, in every window in town