Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda quiet Putnam 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 timers in bib jeans and bought boots
Were hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about their
And the that they'd 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 swollen the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the meister Beer Guts
stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out over the linoleum
Pedal pushers out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and knit their to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook whether you it not

And the Old National register was singing to the of
57 and 57 cents
And then its last call, one more 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 able to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were 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 gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just gettin'
With the melodies of ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

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

And the squint of first light
And it that lurked a weeping marquee in downtown Putnam
And be pullin' up any minute now
Just like a amber, velveeta yellow cab
On a rainy and be blowin' its horn, in every window in town