Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the of the 2-lane
That was out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought
Were hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about their
And the places that been
And suck 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 meister Guts
Swizzle legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out over the linoleum
Pedal pushers stretched out midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls over eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and knit brows to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook whether you it not

And the Old National register was singing to the of
57 dollars and 57
And then its last call, one more game of 8
Bernice be putting 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 would 'em down
And to fame as they stomped their feet
Yeah, about being able to get more ass than a toilet seat

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

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

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

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