Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger meister Guts
stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out over the floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls over Maybelline
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, 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 brows to cover the
Hank Williams songbook whether you it not

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

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

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

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

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